


oh, to be a rainbow

by Jean Genie (LetYourselfGo)



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: ABO, ABO Universe, Alpha Eve Polastri, Alpha Villanelle, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asshole Villanelle, Betrayal of Trust, Bisexual Eve Polastri, Consensual Sex, Designation Politics, Enemies to Lovers, Eve Polastri/Niko (Mentioned), F/F, First Meeting, Fisting, Gender politics, Girl Fucking Virgin Eve Polastri, Glossary of Terms inside, Intro to ABO, MI6, Mild Daddy Kink, Mpreg (mentioned only), Nesting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Outdoor Sex, Pet Names, Road Trip, Sexism from asshole side characters, The Twelve - Freeform, The ever elusive, Very low squick level, Very small cars, Villanelle the Alpha Killer, eventually, f/f ABO, femmeslash ABO, identity crisis, oh and there's a twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetYourselfGo/pseuds/Jean%20Genie
Summary: Villanelle, known as the deadliest Alpha assassin, decides to become an informant for MI6 as an act of spite against Konstantin.  Eve is assigned as her protection on the trip to Scotland, where Villanelle's new home and identity wait.  Eve's seeming rejection of her Alpha designation pisses Villanelle off, being the out and proud Alpha she is.  Villanelle's Alpha entitlement pisses Eve off.  Now they're stuck in a car together, driving across England.But not all is as it seems.(Updated every Wednesday)
Relationships: Carolyn Martens/Konstantin Vasiliev, Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villanelle | Oksana Astankova/Other(s)
Comments: 298
Kudos: 614





	1. The Heiress to the Russian Standard Vodka Empire

**Author's Note:**

> To the ABO genre fans, welcome! To the ABO newbies, also welcome! I have included a glossary of terms at the end of each chapter to help those unfamiliar with this genre, as well as how I've used the components of ABO in this story in different ways, being that so few f/f ABO fics exist. 
> 
> I've had so much fun writing this. Killing Eve fell so easily into this genre that it's been a delight to integrate this universe into its dynamics. And the chance to use abo tropes in a new way has given me the chance to do some world building which has been beyond fun.

All things considered, she was glad that she’d worn the white Tom Ford suit today.

By glad, of course, she meant it was the only thing that day that wasn’t annoying and/or boring her.

MI6 was laaaammmmeee. BEYOND LAME. Hadn’t any of these beige wearing Yorkshire pudding eating nerds ever seen a spy movie? They were supposed to be all sneaky and well dressed and using their sex appeal to get confessions out of bad guys. Instead these losers look like the summer sale at J. Crew is the most exciting day of the year for them.

This better be worth it in the end. Konstantin better regret what he did. She wouldn’t stop until he did.

She shifts the wrong way and flinches as the sting of the gunshot wound in her shoulder burns. Oh yeah. Besides boring paper lovers and shitty coffee, she also has a week old gunshot wound.

Fucking Konstantin.

She knew he would be pissed, okay? But it was his own fault for trying to keep secrets from her. Like that was ever going to happen. Hello, she’s HER. THE BEST. Everyone knows that. Especially all these dorks at MI6. That’s why they were all staring at her from outside this glassed-in conference room. Because she is the legendary Alpha assassin Villanelle. She’s more than happy to fulfill their expectations of her and grin like a bloodthirsty maniac at them all.

Besides, it’s giving her something to do.

Annnyways. So she’d found out about his daughter. So she’d gone to Konstantin’s house and told her all about him and the terrible things he’d done, Big deal. You should be honest with children. Lying to them about the existence of Santa Claus and Jesus and your job as an insurance salesman just pisses them off in the long run. She was just showing Konstantin how to be a good parent, and then he shoots her.

He started it. If he hadn’t wanted her to mess with his family he shouldn’t have pretended that Villanelle was part of it too. What the hell gave him the right to shoot her and leave her for dead, right in front of his precious Irina.

Whatever. Asshole.

She’d woken up in some shitty hospital outside of Saint Petersburg where apparently she'd been unconscious from the blood loss for the last two days. There was this woman standing in front of her wearing a truly fabulous wool jacket (mid length, made out of a beautifully textured navy blue cashmere, single button, shawl collar. It was literally perfect.) Her scent was like a very cold, clear day, crisp and astringent almost. Every inch of her radiated Alpha, but in a subtle way, not brawny, instead in the stance, the set of her mouth. Usually other Alphas didn’t make Villanelle feel anything other than mild annoyance, but not her. Something about her made Villanelle sit up and pay attention.

In a very calm, unruffled English voice she told Villanelle that if she’d like to take this opportunity to unburden herself about anything to do with ‘my very good friend Konstantin’ that she’d be willing to listen.

“You know Konstantin? Oh my god, did you used to _have sex with him_?” She'd asked with a truly horrified look on her face.

“This is a one time offer. And I have an appointment with the most talented furrier in all of Russia in an hour, so the clock is ticking on it.”

“What will you do for me if I tell you?” Villanelle figured she’d call her bluff, tell her to go get her fur stroked and leave her alone when she’d answered.

“Immunity. Protection. If you cooperate and give me real information about his dealings, and anything you know about your organization’s…. upper management, then MI6 will guarantee your safety and help you relocate.”

“Witness Protection? You think I want to change my name to Jane Smith and live as a fry cook in some sleepy little English village out in the middle of nowhere? I’m pissed off at him, but not that pissed off.”

“How about something a little more… you?” Without missing a beat, the deal was offered. “An estate home in Scotland.”

“If you think you can buy me off with some drafty damp hovel, you obviously haven’t been doing your research.”

She’d pulled out her phone then, pulled something up, and then showed a picture of a sprawling stone building, surrounded by heather filled moors and a deep blue loch. Villanelle had to wonder if this was some AirBnB that specialized in Cathy and Heathcliff roleplaying, and honestly, if she could find some willing Omega, she'd be down for it.

“Cricthon Manor. Recently renovated. Seven bedrooms, three drawing rooms, a closet so big a family of three could happily live in it. You can be the heiress to the Russian Standard vodka empire.”

Villanelle knew then that the info she had was more for a personal vendetta than this woman was letting on if she was willing to give so much in exchange.

“That’s the shittiest vodka. I’m insulted.” Villanelle narrowed her eyes. “Stoli.”

“Mamont.”

“Done.” Carolyn checked the time on her phone. “I’ll arrange to have you transported to London by the end of the week. I’m supposing you’re up to it despite your current imposition?”

“Really?” Villanelle had honestly not expected her to agree.

“I never joke about Scotland. It’s much too lovely for that. I’ll meet you at MI6 headquarters on Saturday. In the meantime please try and organize what you’re going to tell us in some kind of coherent fashion. The double agent we brought on last month couldn’t keep a through-narrative if his life depended on it. Proved to be a very circular afternoon.”

Fast forward to her sitting here after spending seven goddamn hours recounting every single thing about Konstantin she could remember, everything he had said to her about the Twelve, making sure it would implicate him and not her. If MI6 didn’t get him, then they sure as hell would.

The whole time they never asked her a single question about her own involvement in everything, so she figured that they’d meant it when they said immunity. That was nice and all but hello, her amazingness needed to be shared and documented, so she’d been more than happy to tell them all about her best work. Honestly, she’s an artist. They deserve to know that. Plus when she told them about the one guy whose balls she’d cut off and then shoved in his mouth, that one pasty looking agent had gotten even more pasty and threw up in the bin in the corner which was HIGH-LAR-IOUS and a much needed moment of excitement in this boring dumb day.

Now she’s in this boring room, alone, being gawked at by the locals for the last hour or four, and she's so boooooorrreeeddddddd coooommmmeeee oonnnnn yyyooouuuu ggguyyyysssss….

The door swings open, interrupting her bellowing. The fabulous coat woman, Carolyn Martens she’d introduced herself as, was back, and she has someone with her. It’s a woman, maybe 5’3, lost under a comically too big parka and the most poorly tailored pair of pants Villanelle has ever seen.

Villanelle stands up, hands in her pockets, sizing up the smaller woman, and very obviously scenting the air. Nothing. Scent blockers usually meant Alpha. She might as well have let her scent out, for all it said about her actual designation.

She has no time for Alphas who hide their scent, who try to deny their Alphaness. Being an Alpha meant you weren’t just strong, you were the strongest. Villanelle loves the joy that it gave her to flaunt her designation, enjoying how it entitled her to be disruptive and forceful. Alphas were the top of the food chain. Whatever, whoever, they wanted, they could have. Why would you deny yourself all that?

She lets her disgust at the woman’s lack of scent fill her own, and watches as it reaches her, as she wrinkles her nose at the acridness of the dislike, and she starts glaring at her in response.

Carolyn looks at them both with a completely blank face, the one she’d had the entire time Villanelle was confessing to her.

“We’ve prepared everything for the first part of your journey. You’re going to be taken north under protection. Personale on this one has to be extremely limited. From what you’ve told us, the Twelve have eyes everywhere, including in MI6, so this has to be done completely under wraps with a very minimal amount of people knowing about it.” She turns to gesture to the smaller woman behind her. “This is Eve Polastri. She’s going to be the one who escorts you to your final destination.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Villanelle scoffs. “Her? She’s supposed to be the one that protects me from the Twelve?”

Eve opens her mouth to answer but Carolyn speaks first, forestalling anything she’s going to say.

“Eve is one of our top agents. Protection is what she does. And the fact that you just underestimated her is why. You traveling with big burly men with earpieces and black jackets is basically putting a target on your back. Eve and you traveling together looks like two friends out together for a… what do they call it now? A stay-cation?”

“If you give me such a pathetic excuse for protection, then I’m not going to be held liable for anything I have to do to protect myself from now on. Including making someone choke on their own balls.”

“Well that does seem to be a hobby of yours, so who am I to discourage what gives you bliss. But I have every confidence that Eve will be able to ensure your safety, if you let her.” Carolyn leans forward then. “And I would suggest that you let Eve do what needs to be done. This is immunity for past deeds, not future ones, despite your… hobbies.”

Villanelle snorts at this, crossing her arms tight in front of her and pouting a bit.

“Whatever.”

“Wonderful. Well I leave you in Eve’s capable hands.” With that she’s out of the room and then it's just the two of them.

“Why is your jacket so big?” Villanelle asks.

“What?”

“It’s massive. Did you used to be fat and haven’t bought yourself a new jacket yet? Because the size of that jacket means you must have been REALLY fat.”

“No, it’s just… it’s just my jacket.” Eve looks momentarily flustered, so goal achieved, one point Villanelle.

“That makes me sad, Eve Polastri.” She says, pushing out her bottom lip. “You make me sad.”

“Pretty sure you moping around in here bored out of your mind for the last hour is what’s making you sad.”

“Well, I was waiting for my big strong body guard to come whisk me away.” She saunters over to stand in front of Eve, to look down at the shorter woman. “So intimidating, little alpha.”

Eve’s hand shoots out before Villanelle knows what’s happening and what the fuck, she’s grabbing the back of her neck, as well as a handful of Villanelle’s hair. She’s cuffing her! Like Villanelle is some disobedient pup! And fuck, now she’s completely paralyzed because of it. Eve twists the grip enough to pull her hair.

“OW!!” Villanelle whines as Eve uses her grip to tilt Villanelle’s head to the side, exposing her neck.

Eve leans forward, inches away from the bared skin, making marked eye contact with Villanelle. Villanelle feels her heartbeat speed up, fear and not just a small amount of humiliation at being treated like this mixing together inside her.

“All you big Alphas act so tough, but in the long run, you’re all giant pussies. This little Alpha,” in an act of complete disregard for the rules, without asking permission first, Eve takes in a deep inhalation, scenting her, “just got the better of you. And now I know exactly what you smell like you’re afraid, so if you’re threatened, I’ll know that scent, and I will come. And I will protect you. Because Carolyn says you’re important. And that you need to be kept alive. And that’s all. Because otherwise, you’re a vile murderer who just turned on her only ally, and what you do makes me sick.”

Villanelle seethes at this, at being so exposed, so manhandled, so judged. Who’s this pathetic Alpha to think she has the right to treat her like this?

Eve squeezes her grip on her hair again, tightly, then shoves her away as she releases her. Villanelle stumbles back, barely refraining from hissing at the other Alpha.

“You’re going to regret that.” She snarls instead, showing Eve her canines.

“Probably. But if it means you get to where we’re going alive, then I’ll deal with it.” Eve goes over and opens the door, smiling condescendingly at her, bending at the waist and making a sweeping gesture. “After you, _princess_.”

______

[Tom Ford suit ](https://twitter.com/tomford/status/1171528323916107782)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha/Omega dynamics in this story are similar to old school (and offensive) ideas about gender. The perception of Alphas in this story are dominate, aggressive, and territorial, especially with their mate (usually an Omega.) The Omegas here as seen as submissive, domestic minded, sweet and demure, ultimately getting fulfillment from being domestic, caring for an Alpha.
> 
> Gender dynamics in this story are old school, so even female Alphas are seen as less than, weak, because they don't have dicks. (Female Alphas' ability to procreate will be revealed later, so if you're weird with this, you're safe for now. I'll be updating tags when this might happen.)
> 
> Scent - in an ABO universe, Alphas and Omegas have a scent, each unique to the person. In this story, the scent of one Alpha to another has little impact. The scent of an Omega, however, can appeal to Alphas. The attraction is usually primal, with some Omegas being more alluring in their scent to certain Alphas, and vice versa with Omegas.
> 
> Scent Blockers - Alphas and Omegas have the choice to take medication to block their scents.
> 
> Scenting - The act of obviously pulling in another's scent. Scent is generated in the neck and wrists.
> 
> Cuffing - the origin of ABO is in dynamics in a wolf pack. Cuffing is similar to an older wolf grabbing a pup (in ABO this term describes young children) by the neck and carrying them. In ABO, this grabbing of the back of the neck freezes up their body.
> 
> Hissing, snarling - I've decided to work in the animalistic dynamic of ABO, giving both Eve and Villanelle's rage that dangerous edge of primal confrontation.
> 
> For a broad description of ABO you can give this a read - fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega


	2. Hobbit Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, you'll find a glossary of terms at the end of this chapter for any ABO related things. Also I know little to nothing about driving in England, so if I mess something up please let me know. Enjoy!

Finding herself in a tin can sized smart car with a pushy, disrespectful, scent blocking Alpha isn’t exactly an improvement on Villanelle's situation.

“This car is stupid. I have nowhere to put my long beautiful legs,” she bitches, folding herself up like an extremely uncomfortable origami crane. “Obviously you don’t have this problem because you’re a hobbit inside a hobbit sized car.”

“You know what a hobbit is?” Is all Eve says back as she drives them right into London Friday night rush hour traffic on the A40.

“Of course. Internationally acclaimed assassins have sick days too and need something long and pretty to watch while the Nyquil kicks in.” She finally finds the lever to move the seat and succeeds in getting approximately two inches back. “UGH, YOUR CAR SUCKS. Also Cate Blanchett is like peak lesbian goals. She’s Mount Everest for women who like to fuck women.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’m aware.” Eve says, focused on merging into traffic and not paying NEARLY enough attention to Villanelle.

“You’re aware because you have that one gay friend, right?”

“I have more than one gay friend,” Eve snarks back and ah-hah this is exactly what Villanelle is aiming for.

“Ooohhh, you’re so open minded, Eve Polastri. You have gay friends!”

“And the fact that I also like to fuck women? Does that count?” Eve says, finally looking over at her with a very challenging gaze, and FINALLY, there’s a bit of Alpha showing up.

Also when Eve says this, that little zing that went through her had better be annoyance and not, whatever. Whatever.

“Well looks like it’s dyke night at the old gay bar. Better break out the cargo shorts and Melissa Etheridge.”

“You got something against Melissa Etheridge, millennial?”

“LOL NO.”

“Did you actually just say ‘lol’ out loud?”

“Ok, boomer.”

“Technically I’m a Gen Xer, so…”

“Technically, I haven’t eaten since I had the runny egged breakfast special from your crappy cafeteria at MI6 about eight hours ago and I’m starving. Time to feed your charge, Gen Xer Eve Polastri. Maybe you can tell me all about going to Lilith Fair while you find me food.”

“You’re going to have to wait until we get through to High Wycombe, and the traffic starts to thin out.”

“But I’m hungry noooowwww,”

“There’s a protein bar in the glove compartment.”

“There’s a glove compartment in this? I thought this drawer was where the engine was.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I want waffles.”

“Then you’ll have to wait.”

Villanelle slouches down in her seat, sulking, bringing her foot up to kick at the dashboard.

“This isn’t what I agreed to.”

“You agreed to immunity, safe passage, and a place to live. You’re currently receiving the first two and will have the last one within a few days.”

“A few DAYS!? Why is it going to take so long? Nothing on this crappy island takes that long to get to.”

“We have to make sure we don’t have any tails so we’re going to be doing some doubling back.”

“Uuuugggghhhhh!”

“Take it or leave it. Now feet off the dashboard.”

Villanelle puts her foot down but continues to sulk, this time with all the silent annoyance she can muster. She glares out the window at all the boring English people in their boring cars living their boring lives, and let's all that irritation build up in her scent, filling the car with pure cranky Alpha. Watching out of the corner of her eye as Eve registers the scent, the challenge in it, her hands tightening on the wheel until her knuckles are white, she waits until….

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Eve says as she angrily winds down the window and all Villanelle can think is I win, another point for me.

Eve refused to stop for waffles. In fact she refused to stop for anything besides the McDonald’s drive-through. (“It’s this or nothing, princess.”) Even though Villanelle has a refined palate that hasn't come anywhere near processed food in years, she was so hungry at that point that even the thought of a Big Mac made her mouth water like a starving dog.

She’s currently shoveling fries into her mouth when she decides to go back to her only currently available occupation, harassing Eve Polastri. Hmm. Polastri. 

“You’re not Polish.”

“Astute and cunning observation.” Eve says back drily, eyes never leaving the road.

“Then there's a Mrs. Polastri?” Villanelle knows this is going to hit on a nerve, considering the lack of wedding ring.

“No.” Eve bites back, her face tight.

“Ah. A Mr. Polastri?”

“Not anymore.” There is a finality to Eve’s tone, but Villanelle isn’t having that.

“Dead?”

“Divorced.”

“And you still have the name?”

“Less paperwork.” Though Villanelle can tell that that isn’t the whole truth.

“And Mr. Polastri, was he a beta? You weren't so desperate that you married some boring beta, were you? Or a weepy little weakling Omega? Or another Alpha? Oh, you freak! You fucking another Alpha? Maybe I should watch out!” Villanelle pushes on that nerve with delight.

“God, I would never.” Eve says back, obviously not thinking about it, and Villanelle can see the instant regret at revealing too much.

“Oh, he was a big blubbering boy Omega! Is that what got you in the end? The constant exhausting need for validation?” Villanelle put on a high pitched, ditzy tone. “Oh, Eve, do you like my pot roast?! Oh, Eve, I sewed the button back on to your jacket, does that make you happy? Oh, Eve, let’s have babies! Oh, breed me, Alpha!!”

Suddenly Eve is swerving the car to the side of the very busy road, causing all the drivers passing behind her to lay on their horns, and frankly, the kind of cursing that British people are capable of is so layered and creative. Villanelle’s impressed. Oh wait, here's Eve, face flushed with suppressed rage. Yippee!

“Don’t talk about him. Do you hear me? You don’t get to say a word about him.”

“You didn’t want to have babies, huh? And he left you because the rejection almost killed him? Or maybe he found himself a real Alpha, one who lets her scent fill every room she enters, who makes everyone she encounters quiver with intimidation.” Villanelle continues on, undeterred.

“Just because you’re some souped up, wannabe knothead who thinks her smoked paprika and cedar scented ass is the most amazing thing anyone’s ever encountered doesn’t mean that your way of being an Alpha is the only way.”

Smoked paprika? Cedar?

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else do I smell like besides paprika and cedar?”

“For godsake.” Eve throws the car back into drive and peels out back onto the road, cutting off one very angry driver with some very Alpha-like aggression. FINALLY!

When they get to the crappy motel that apparently they will be staying at for the night, Villanelle makes sure Eve knows all about her disgust at the accommodations.

“The fact that you find this place so distasteful is the exact reason why we’re staying here. The Twelve know exactly what a stuck up little snob you are and would never think to look at a place like this.”

Villanelle might agree with this logic, but she sure as shit isn’t going to let Eve know that.

“I don’t care. Just give me my room key.”

“Oh, no. We’re sharing.” Eve says as she’s dragging her suitcase up the stairs to the second floor because of course this rat trap doesn’t have an elevator.

“You have to be kidding me.”

“Safer that way.” Eve finally reaches the top and blows the hair that had escaped her messy bun out of her eyes in the most adorable way that Villanelle almost gagged. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until we have you successfully installed in your safe house.”

“And this isn’t because you are actually a secret Alpha who fucks Alphas, right? Because honestly Eve,” she gives her a leering up and down look, “with all those scent blockers and your tiny weak arms, I could probably pretend you’re a sweet lil Omega while I fuck you. I bet you look real pretty bent over a chair.”

At that moment, Villanelle is even more annoyed about not being able to scent Eve, because if she’d been able to corroborate the blown out pupil response to this statement with a spike of arousal in Eve’s scent, she would have something to hold over Eve for the rest of their miserable time together.

After three episodes of Time Team, Eve finally passes out on her twin bed, leaving Villanelle wide awake and more bored than she ever thought possible. She moves silently, in her special trained spy way, to the window and sees a pub across the street. Suddenly, she is desperately thirsty. And those spy skills came in handy when you’ve got to sneak out of the hotel room through the window making no noise whatsoever. Eve still snoring in their room is all Villanelle needs to prove her theory of what a terrible bodyguard Eve is.

The pub is predictably British, tacky neon signs and too much wood paneling, full of football fans, all yelling at the gigantic TV in the corner. No one takes any notice of Villanelle at first, until she ups her swagger and starts to lean into her designation, and what it makes her capable of.

As her scent fills the pub, heads start to swivel round. All the Alpha bros who’d been engrossed in the game, pumping the room full of sweaty, muggy scent of male Alphas that made Villanelle gag, look at her with confusion. Male Alphas were never ready for her, for a powerful Alpha female who refused to hide behind scent blockers and rut suppressants. She is more of an Alpha than any of these idiots. She meets each one of their gazes, refusing to back down, until they start to snort and scoff, turning back to their game and Villanelle knows she’s established dominance without having to lift a damn finger.

Men are so pathetic sometimes. No wonder she never fucks them anymore.

Something much more pleasant enters Villanelle’s senses. A cloyingly sweet scent. A pretty little Omega is at the bar, blonde, wearing a pink wrap dress with a cherry print on it, and oh my goodness, Villanelle loves cherries. She goes over to her, motioning to the bartender.

“Give this lovely lass here another of what she’s having, and a glass of your best red, please.” She says in her poshest Queen's English accent.

The bartender returns with a Shirley Temple, complete with an umbrella speared into a cherry and a pineapple, and a glass of red wine. Upon sipping her drink, Villanelle quickly realizes that their best wine seems to be expired Ribena.

“That was so amazing, what you did with all the Chelsea fans.” The Omega says, preening more than just a little under Villanelle’s gaze. “I’ve never seen a female Alpha do that before.”

“That’s because most female Alphas are afraid of what they’re capable of.” Villanelle leans towards her to ask in a low tone. “How about you? Are you afraid of what I’m capable of?”

“Only afraid that I might not be enough for you, I guess.” Villanelle barely keeps herself from rolling her eyes. Sometimes the Omega need to be diminishing is a bit much for her.

“Why’s that? You never been properly trained by an Alpha?”

This is always a good test of what an Omega is willing to do in bed. Traditionally, Omegas are taken by an Alpha when they come of age, giving them their virginity and being trained on how to properly please an Alpha, from making the dinners and keeping the house clean to presenting their sweet, wet holes to be fucked good and proper. Honestly the idea of it has always made Villanelle extremely bored, so she’d never bothered. She just steals these trained house cats from other Alphas, because obviously they’ve never really been properly fucked until they meet her.

“My boyfriend, Gary, he’s training me.” She says, eyelashes fluttering.

“He give you what you need?” The spike of arousal in the cotton candy scent coming from this little Omega is making Villanelle hungry already. The little piece of sugar is going to be so sweet on her tongue.

"Sometimes." 

"Only sometimes?" Villanelle leans forward to press her lips to this little sweetheart's ear. "I can give it to you right now, if you'd like. Would you like that, precious?"

She's nodding her head quickly, pretty little cheeks all flushed, and thank god for that, because this is exactly the pick-me-up Villanelle needs right now.

“Wot the fuck, Jackie?!”

Oh great. The unmistakable sound of a pissed off Alpha bro. She turns around to see some red faced, giant headed 20-something guy, fat stomach straining his stained football jersey.

“Oh, you must be Gary! We were just talking about you!” Villanelle gets up from her chair to walk over to him, grabbing him by the shoulder. “You got quite the sweet little Omega here. She’s going to look so pretty coming on my tongue.”

He jerks back at this attempt at dominance, shirking off her hand. Suddenly there’s a cloud of challenged, pissed off Alpha coming off him and he’s winding his fist up to punch Villanelle and FINALLY, something for her to punch.

She easily deflects his fist, coming under it to hit him in the solar plexus with the heel of her hand, causing him to gasp for breath. Grabbing his arm and wrenching it behind his back, she pushes him until his face is pressed to the wall, kicking his legs apart and pinning him there. Every inch of her feels alive, her scent everywhere, on everything, and she is as she is meant to be. The top predator.

“Listen to me. You’re going to turn tail and run out of here like the scared little bunny you are while I stay here and give your Omega the best orgasm she will ever, ever have. And if you don’t, then I'll beat the shit out of you right here in front of your buddies here. How do you think that’ll make them think of you?”

She releases him then, stepping back, and with one fearful glance over his shoulder at her, he runs for the door like his ass is on fire. Villanelle laughs at how stupid he looks.

“Come here, sweet thing. Time for your training to end.” Villanelle says, holding out her hand for the Omega.

She takes her behind the pub, and drops down on her knees in front of her, lifting that sweet little pink ruffled dress up, pulling down the lacy panties, opening up those dimpled knees, and with her fingers and her mouth makes her start to absolutely drip. She can feel it on all over her lips, her chin, and it tastes so good, like melting candy canes and rocket pops.

“Oh my god!”

And look who decided to finally wake up and do her job.

“See, Eve, if you weren’t on scent blockers, I’d have known you were coming, and maybe stopped to ask you what the hell you were doing.”

“I woke up and you were gone, so I followed your very odious and lingering scent out here and heard you moaning.”

Okay, that kind of detective work was actually good. And Villanelle takes note of the fact that Eve does indeed have a gun with her as she watches her holster it.

“We have this little honeypot to thank for that.” Villanelle says, still on her knees. “You want some of this? It’s the most delightfully tasty treat.”

The Omega whimpers at that, her already highly aroused scent going into overdrive, and Villanelle sees the exact moment it hits Eve, sees her eyes go dark, her chest inflating with a deep scenting breath in true Alpha form. Well damn if Villanelle doesn’t actually want to see Eve chin deep in this now pre-heat Omega.

“She’s about to go supernova, you know. Maybe we take her back to the room? Give her a proper heat?”

“Please, Alpha, please.” The Omega pleads desperately to Eve, her apple cheeked face flushed with need.

Villanelle can see it all flashing over Eve’s face, the instinctual reaction, the desire, the puffed up chest, the rising need to dominate, and Villanelle thinks, yes, she has her, she’s managed to pull Eve in.

Within a moment, though, Eve stands ramrod straight, her shoulders back, her face impassive.

“We’re leaving.” She says in a completely no nonsense tone. “You’ve compromised us enough.”

The Omega lets out a pained little mewl at this, and what the fuck, Eve has to know what it can feel like for an Omega to not be properly fucked during a heat. But her face is unmoved.

She stands up then, her eyes locked with Eve’s, then quickly reaches out to press her fingers into the Omega, so wet with slick that they slip in with utter ease, and with a few flicks of her fingers pulls a long, purring orgasm out of her. Eve’s gaze never falters from hers. She shows absolutely no reaction to the smell of pleased Omega wrapping coyly around them. Villanelle finally looks away to give the Omega a deep, long kiss, swallowing the whimpers, then walks up to Eve, holding out her hand.

“Wanna taste?”

“You’ve blown our cover. We have to leave. Get in the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another note about scent - Scents are affected by moods, fear, anger, annoyance, and of course, arousal.
> 
> Betas - in the ABO genre, betas are neutrals, no scent, no heats or ruts. 
> 
> Breed - this will be discussed in a few chapters. 
> 
> Ruts and Heats - An Omega's heat is a 24+ hour period where a surge of hormones makes them very, very, very aroused, and a rut is a matching surge in an Alpha that is triggered when they encounter an Omega in heat. Both are usually so overwhelmed that they have low to no inhibitions and are running purely on animalistic instinct to fuck/procreate. Ruts/heats in the ABO genre often cause dubious consent situations like fuck or die and too horny to say no. All of the sex in this story is consensual, however. 
> 
> Pre-heat - the warning period for an Omega that they're about to go into heat, characterized by their scent becoming more intense and inviting, and instincts kicking in to find someone to fuck them. 
> 
> Heat suppressants - artificial hormones that allow an Omega to not go into heat, similar to the birth control pill. 
> 
> Rut suppressants - hormone blockers that stop Alphas from going into a rut if they encounter an Omega in heat. In this story, taking these is an Alpha deciding to not prey, accidentally or intentionally, on an Omega who is about to go into heat, or is already in heat. Villanelle not taking them is more about her not wanting to deny herself the opportunity, but never in a non-consensual way.
> 
> Training - I came up with this concept for this story, because it feels really in keeping with the antiquated gender role ideas that I'm using as a reference for ABO dynamics.
> 
> Dominance - because I'm using a wolf pack mentality for Alphas and Omegas, there's a lot of importance put on being the dominant Alpha, the leader of the pack.


	3. Waffles and Peppa

They drive all night, the smell of the honey sweet Omega all over Villanelle, filling the car. Eve says nothing about it, but if she’s being affected the way Villanelle is being affected, she’s probably rumbling inside too.

Villanelle's suspicions are confirmed when Eve pulls into the parking lot of a motel around 8 am, jerks the keys out of the ignition and jumps out of the car. Once outside, Villanelle watches her take deep breaths through her nose, clearing the scent. Villanelle leisurely gets out of the car, coming around to cross her arms in front of her. Eve gives her a dark look, obviously knowing that she's on to her.

“I’m going to go check us in. Stay here.”

“Oh ma’am, yes ma’am!” Villanelle says, giving her a mock salute.

Once they get into the room, Eve tells Villanelle to shower and change because they’re going to go to the restaurant across the street for breakfast. Honestly, the only thing that would make Villanelle obey this command is the promise of waffles in the perceivable future. But she can’t let it look like she’s going to do it because Eve told her so.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take in another noseful of her before she’s washed away forever?” Just as Eve is about to explode Villanelle turns to the bathroom, closing the door.

“I’m in the mood for strawberries, I wonder why?” She asks Eve once she has a giant Belgian waffle in front of her and then proceeds to eat it in big giant bites, not resurfacing until she feels eyes on her. She looks up and sees Eve staring at her.

“What?” She asks, her mouth still full.

“That was rude.”

“You’re the one who asked me a question while I’m eating.” Villanelle says, swallowing the mouthful of waffle.

“No, the Omega. Taking her like that.”

“She did _not_ seem to mind.” Villanelle smirks into her very tasty breakfast.

“You brought her down to her base instincts. Took away her ability to reason.”

“One could argue that her base instincts are what she uses instead of reason, because that’s how an Omega works.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“All I know is that I made that sweet little slice of pie get so wet, made her feel so utterly blissed out, allowed her to engage without any fear with her true self. That might be hard for someone who denies her designation every single moment of her life to understand. All of us not on suppressants and blockers know something you don’t, Eve. We know what it means to truly feel something.”

“I think that it's less about truly feeling something and more to do with your inflated Alpha ego.”

“My ego is directly in proportion with my ability to fuck an Omega better than they’ve ever been fucked in their lives.” Eve demurs for just a moment, and Villanelle jumps on it. “Were you nervous about fucking that Omega after me? That she would be disappointed by your fumblings after my steady hand?”

“Hardly.” Eve says, but she can’t make eye contact with Villanelle as she does.

“Hoooold on,” Villanelle feels it all coming together. “You’ve never actually been with a woman before!”

“Shut up” is all Eve can manage back, causing Villanelle to cackle so hard that the old couple at the next booth who’ve literally only said two words to each other the whole time they’d been there glare at her. “You can like to fuck women without actually having done so, you know.”

“Theory and practice are two veeeery different things in this incident.” Villanelle looks at her, shaking her head. “Some Alpha you turned out to be, Eve Polastri.”

“Not all of us are uncivilized ass hats like you, swinging our big Alpha scents around, knocking into everyone around them.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, do you?” Villanelle leans forward. “That feeling of power, of certitude. It’s how I’m able to do what I do so well, you know. Ever since the first time I killed someone, since that first neck snap, I’ve had this certainty of who I am, and what I can do to people. The Alpha in me, even back then when I was young and newly presented, that became my inner power source. It allows me to never feel fear, feel weakness ever again.”

Eve looks at her for a long moment, showing no reaction.

“What do you mean, ever again?”

“What?”

“How old were you when you presented?”

“Fifteen. Right after the Twelve recruited me.”

“You were fifteen when they abducted you?”

“They didn’t ABDUCT me, Eve. Don’t be so dramatic. They simply made me an offer I would have been an idiot to refuse. Power, money, fabulous things, traveling, all to do something I loved to do already.”

“How old were you when you first killed someone?”

“Sixteen. Had to train for a whole year before my first assignment, which sucked. But I already showed a certain flair for violence after cutting the penis off of my teacher’s husband when she gave me a bad grade on my paper about Catherine the Great.” She notices that Eve’s face betrays no horror at this, only an inquisitive turn of the head, despite having told Villanelle that what she did made her sick. Interesting. “But then, I’ve always had a hard time with other Alpha women.”

They silently regard each other, both waiting for the other to break. Eventually Eve looks away, rolling her eyes, and haha, look at that, another point for Villanelle.

“I’m going to go pay the bill.” Eve gets out of the booth and goes to the register, leaving Villanelle sitting there with nothing to do AGAIN and god would Villanelle’s life ever be not boring?

She idly looks around the restaurant at all the lame people eating their lame meals. The old couple next to her look like two piles of greying mashed potatoes. The waitress in her polyester uniform looks like she’d lost a fight with her hair dryer. The cook behind the divide to the kitchen, well okay, she’s not going to give him any shit because he just made her a damn fine waffle. But the dishwasher she can just barely see? So pathetic. Who voluntarily washes dishes?

Her eyes fall onto a small family in the corner booth by the window. It’s an exhausted looking mom who has some snotty nosed, whimpering baby grabbing onto her hair and her lips and squeezing them until she can see the woman’s eyes water. God, Villanelle didn’t envy Omegas AT ALL.

Next to her is an older man, holding onto another squirming child, this one older, maybe a toddler. Villanelle’s nose curls up in disgust at the sight of this kid who has a giant ketchup stain on her Peppa the Pig t shirt.

Yes, she knows what Peppa the Pig is. Once, after she bungled a hit on a German weapons dealer, Konstantin had punished her by sending her on an assignment where she had to be a substitute kindergarten teacher for a week and it was, no exaggerating, even worse than when she was in prison. Even when she’d been in the hole. So many sticky hands. So much SINGING. And the decibels that a screaming child was able to make, Jesus Christ. Stupid Konstantin. Villanelle was so happy he was probably going to be murdered. Hopefully in front of his loudmouth daughter. She hopes that when she watches her dad die, that she remembers Villanelle.

Amidst her blood fueled thoughts, she watches as the little girl reaches out to for her father’s face, patting his cheeks with her dirty little kid hands. At the joyful look on his face when she does this, Villanelle feels something, some reason she can’t look away.

She suddenly remembers the look on Konstantin’s face when he’d come home and seen her with his daughter. That look, she remembers it so clearly now, the look of terror, and the tone of his voice, begging her not to hurt his daughter, all the love, the utter pure love. Villanelle feels a stab of something, something totally unfamiliar. She realizes with dawning horror that she feels… BAD. She feels guilty?! What the fuck?!

Jumping to her feet, she runs past Eve by the front reception, ignoring her when she asks her what’s wrong, running all the way out to the car, the whole time thinking what have I done? What have I done?

Later, once she has time to try and process what happened next, Villanelle will blame her inability to instantly react on this moment of distraction, of being overwhelmed by a wave of uncertainty, something she hasn’t felt in years. That has to be the only reason she doesn’t notice the two Alphas, one male and one female, coming up on her full speed. It isn’t until one of the them, the woman, has her by the throat with a gun pressed to her side that she realizes what's going on.

Once her instincts go back online she’s able to easily slip to the side, out of the way of the gun, knowing that the attacker won’t risk shooting her out in the middle of a parking lot in suburban England. She’s able to reel back and use the heel of her free hand to smash the Alpha’s nose, driving the broken bones back into her face. While the Alpha is buckling over in pain, though, Villanelle’s body is slammed into the car behind her again, and there’s the male Alpha, his forearm pressed to her throat and his hand crushing both of her very beautifully shaped and delicate wrists. He leers up close to her, smiling at her.

“Hello, Villanelle.”

“Oh my god, is that you, Vladmir?”

“Glad I made such an impression on you the last time we worked together.”

“I’d recognize your pickled cabbage breath anywhere, you walking jar of sauerkraut.” She purses her lips at him, making kissy noises and yeah, okay, so that kind of just makes him madder and more Alpha-ish and now he has his forearm pressed to her throat even harder, so hard that Villanelle starts to struggle to breath, feels her brain starting to scream because she needs air, she needs air, and all she can see is his beady eyes and huge gross pores, and don’t let this be the last thing she sees before she dies.

Suddenly the press against her throat is gone and she’s gasping in breath after breath, her throat feeling like it’s just had an unsuccessful attempt at a tracheotomy. When she is finally able to focus enough to actually look around her she sees tiny little Eve pulling Vladmir back by his hair, and then slamming her knee up into his back so hard that Villanelle can see the exact moment it breaks by the shock and agony that covers his face. Her face cold as stone, Eve dropping his body with a heavy thwack of useless meat hitting asphalt, then looking up at Villanelle. Holy shit, Villanelle thought, she’s not even out of breath.

“Get in.” Eve says and Villanelle is jumping into the car before she even realizes it and holy fuck did Eve just use her Alpha voice on her? And did Villanelle just obey her?

The only thing in that moment that Villanelle is able to discern in her spinning, possibly still oxygen starved brain wasn’t the answer to that question, however. It’s something deep in her, something rising up, and she feels her face getting hot, her whole body getting hot, and she thinks, oh shit, she’s about to pass out from lack of oxygen maybe when she realizes she’s… she’s turned on? Not just turned on, she can feel an actually throbbing in her and what THE FUCK IS GOING ON, it almost seems like she's, like she's KEENING over being saved by Eve?

She turns and looks at Eve getting in the car, her face resolute and totally unphased by what she’d just done. Eve starts the car, slams on the gas, and as the car peels away, there’s a gunshot smashing through the back window and thank GOD that there’s some air flow in their now so Eve won’t smell how stupidly turned on she is right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slick - I forgot to add this note to the last chapter so for now, I'll leave it here. Slick in the m/m ABO world is a self generating lubrication made by the body in the ass, which as I'm sure you can imagine, makes everything a lot more convenient when it comes to anal sex. In this story, I'm referencing the natural wetness that vaginas produce when aroused and using it pretty much as it is in the real world, with the possibility for quite a lot of it, and for it to have a taste the coincidences with the scent of an Omega.
> 
> Presenting - a person's designation usually presents itself in the form of a first heat/rut around age 15.
> 
> Alpha Voice - A certain timbre and tone of voice that an Alpha has that can increase the authority of what they're saying. 
> 
> Keening - In this story, when an Omega is feeling protected and cared for, she'll keen for the Alpha.


	4. Precious Moments

It’s not until two hours and a car change later that apparently Eve realizes that, yeah, something the fuck is wrong.

Villanelle has spent the interim time that they were flying down the highway in a new car that is somehow even SMALLER than the last one silently FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

Listen, Villanelle is ALL for same designation sex. She gets it, okay, Alphas are hot as fuck, and, she didn’t know, probably some unprocessed childhood trauma made an Alpha wanna fuck another one. Or maybe they both really just want to have super aggressive sex. No kink shaming here. But not her. Not the Alpha Killer.

She is the apex fucking predator. She is the one who sneaks in behind all the other Alphas, takes their Omegas, fucks them and then sends them back drenched in her scent. What she isn’t is some kind of weak Omega losing their damn mind over a strong, power Alpha coming out of nowhere, pulling away the threat and protecting you from it, making sure you’re okay with a frown line between her stupid beautiful eyebrows and FUCK!

“Hey, are you okay?” Eve’s voice is soft and concerned and it’s NOT FUCKING HELPING.

“YesthankyouI’mfine” Villanelle says between gritted teeth.

“You don’t look fine.” Eve stops at a stoplight and turns to face Villanelle, reaching out to gently place her hand on Villanelle’s arm. “Did they hurt you?”

FUUUUUCCKKK!!! CLIT BONER!!!

“NO!” Villanelle snatches back her arm like Eve’s touch was the most abhorrent thing ever, trying to ignore the jolt that went right down into her pussy at the feeling of her skin touching hers.

“Are you sure you didn’t, like, hit your head or something? Because you don’t seem like everything is okay.”

Oh and now she’s an INTUITIVE TOP?! Fuck this!!!

“I’m okay.” Villanelle forces herself to unclench, to pull out of the hunched-against-the-door position she’d fallen into partially because this car was the size of Jacquemus purse and partially because she is trying really hard to be as far away from Eve as possible.

“Okay.” Eve still looks doubtful. “We’re having to go in a round about way now that we were made. We’re going to be staying in a MI6 safe house just south of Glasgow for the night and then tomorrow morning I’ll get us another car.”

“Can this one please be a human sized one and not another one for mice?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not in charge of that.” Eve says, giving her a shit eat grin that let’s her know that yeah, this shit car is definitely her doing.

Villanelle feels her annoyance creeping back up and decides to grab onto it and try and make things normal again.

“You seem pretty cocky for someone who’s charge almost just got killed on her watch.”

Eve’s eyes stay trained on the road, but Villanelle sees the muscle in her jaw twitch.

“If my charge hadn’t insisted on getting into a bar fight and fucking a bonded Omega in the alley behind said bar, maybe the international organization with eyes fucking everywhere wouldn’t have managed to track us down.”

“Hmm, I don’t know, Eve. Sounds like excuses to me.” Villanelle leans closer to her to whisper. “Lucky for you, your charge can take care of herself.”

“Oh is that what you call you standing there with your mouth gaping open like a fish as I took that fucker out?”

“Whatever.” Villanelle turns back to the door, embarrassed at this pathetic comeback. “How did you even know how to do that last move?”

“I take Muay Thai lessons every Thursday night at my local yoga studio. It’s great cardio.”

Okay, what the fuck, who even is this person?

“Wait, how many people have you actually given protection to before?”

Eve’s lack of immediate response is its own answer.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

“Listen, I plan almost every protection detail on any of the high risk individuals that MI5 encounters, so I know the components of this operation better than anyone.”

“MI5?! You don’t even WORK for MI6?!”

“I’ve been working under my boss Bill in risk assessment for over 10 years, and he trusts me to make the necessary calls to...”

“Are you KIDDING ME?! You’re some SECRETARY!?! MI6 has me running through this stupid country with some weak ass, pencil pushing MI5 neophyte and they think…”

“They think that you being alive is only important enough for a secretary to protect you, I guess.” Eve grins sarcastically at her. “I guess you shouldn’t have told them everything. Don’t have a lot of value to them now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying that if you think I’m not good enough to protect me, maybe you should think of why I was assigned to you.”

Suddenly the car is being pulled into a hidden driveway on the side of the suburban road they’d been driving on. Eve shuts off the engine.

“We’re here.” She says, and gets out of the car, not so subtly slamming the door after and Villanelle's anxiety goes hypersonic.

It’s only 5 o’clock but Villanelle is so fucking done with this day as well as very eager to be as far away as possible from Eve that she goes into the bedroom and promptly passes out on the musty smelling bed.

The next thing she knows, Irina Vasiliev is sitting on her chest like some kind of medieval demon.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?!” Irina says, and Villanelle can feel knees digging into her shoulders and she can’t move, she’s totally paralyzed, looking up at the round face of the fifteen year old girl glaring down at her. “How could you do that to my dad? Did you want me to be like you, some sad pathetic orphan who no one loves? All alone with no one to give a shit about me? No matter what you do, you’re going to be alone! No one will ever care about you because you’re evil! You’re a _monster_!”

When she wakes up gasping, it’s pitch black outside. Taking in gulping breaths, she manages to settle her racing heartbeat and allow herself to recognize that it was just a dream, even though she has a sick feeling in her stomach still at being so called out.

She realizes that the bedroom door has been opened, meaning that Eve must have been checking on her. She waits to see if she feels anything in reaction to this, and thankfully, nothing is coming up except for mild annoyance at her watching Villanelle while she was sleeping like Eve was the Golden State Killer or something. When she goes to sit up though, she definitely feels something. Sharp cramps in her gut hit her so hard that she has to double over, cradling her stomach as she tries to breathe through it.

Honest to fucking god, if she’s ended up with food poisoning on top of everything else, Villanelle was going to go on a rampage. It’s only the thought of Konstantin currently being hunted by MI6, of his daughter being there when they kick down the door of their house and open fire that makes Villanelle feel any better which, good, apparently that was just some random brain glitch in the restaurant.

The cramps lessen somewhat and she’s able to stand, walking out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. Once she gets in there, she sees an insanely curly head of hair laying on the table, attached to a body wearing a hideous green sweater and oh shit, it’s Eve and her hair is down for the first time and Jesus Christ it is AMAZING!! Also she might be dead.

“You better be alive, because I am not physically capable of driving that toy car in the driveway with my beautiful long limbs.”

At this, Eve sits up, and shakes back all these magnificent curls and FUCK Villanelle feels a zing race through her body, landing squarely in her cooch. She doesn’t know if it’s some kind of fear response, or if she’s gone too long without eating proper food and sleeping on sheets with any kind of real thread count, but she decides that this is all just a stupid psychological reaction to stress and she is just going to ignore it until it goes away.

She notices that Eve’s under eyes are all puffy and that her nose is red. Oh my god, was she crying? Who ever heard of an Alpha who cried? God she was so pathetic.

“Hey there’s some soup on the stove if you wanna reheat it.”

“Yeah, pass.” Villanelle sits down at the table and notices that Eve’s phone is lighting up with a notification. She manages to get a quick look, seeing the name Niko and the words “just leave me alone, Eve. We’re not married anymore.”

Ohhhh shit. Looks like she’s text stalking her former Omega.

Eve follows Villanelle’s gaze down to her phone and snatches it up into her hand.

“That was private.”

“Look, Eve, I could care less about your pathetic heterosexual drama. I’m not exactly surprised that a neutered Alpha like yourself had your Omega leave you, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for someone who is providing 'protection'” Villanelle goes so far as to use air quotes at this, “to be distracted by pathetically crying over some Omega who doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

Villanelle sits back and waits for Eve to take the bait, but all she gets is a silent, unreadable stare.

“What?” Villanelle finally asks, unnerved.

“It is much more complicated than that when you’re in a bonded relationship. It’s more than just swaggering Alphas and weak Omegas. There’s actual love involved, when it’s right. It’s not just designational instinct. We are as a species evolved beyond that.”

“Are we?” Villanelle says. “Let me ask you something, Eve. Why did your husband leave you?”

Eve holds her gaze for a moment.

“He met someone else.”

“Was this someone else an Alpha?”

“No.”

“A beta?”

“No.”

“Wait. Your husband left you to be with another Omega?”

“When we were married, I wasn’t on scent blockers, I wasn’t on rut suppressants. I was his big protective Alpha. He cooked dinner for me, and kept house, and went to his job teaching third graders, doing all the perfectly Omega things, while I did all the perfectly Alpha things, like work hard, and make him feels small and protected, and ignored him when he asked me to talk about how I was feeling, and ignored him when he told me he wasn’t happy, and ignored him when he asked if I wouldn’t be so Alpha with him and try being more tender and sweet and emotional. And then I came home one day, and he was gone, and my house was empty. And now I live in a shitty one bedroom apartment while the love of my life gets to have a sweet, wonderful life with some big titted art teacher who’s entire house is decorated with Precious Moments figurines.”

“She sounds like a psycho. Those things are super creepy.” Is all Villanelle says back, and then she watches Eve’s blank reaction explode into hysterical laughter.

“RIGHT?! The No Tears Past the Gate one is TERRIFYING! And she has it lit up on a special shelf!”

“Well obviously you need to break into her house and smash it.”

“Don’t worry, I snapped the heads off every single one she had in the bathroom when I went over there to drop off some of his stuff as an excuse to see how she lived.”

And then shit, they’re both just sitting there, grinning at each other, and they were just… having a nice conversation?

“Let me reheat this soup for you.” Eve says, getting up and suddenly Villanelle is reaching out, laying a hand on Eve’s wrist to stop her.

“It’s okay, I can do it.”

When she goes to stand up though, she has another spasm in her gut, this time so bad that she can’t hide it from Eve.

“What’s wrong?!”

“I’m having… stomach cramps and I think… it must be from the waffles or something.”

“You ate those almost 24 hours ago, they shouldn’t be making you sick now.” Eve reaches out and puts her hand on Villanelle’s forehead. “Shit, you’re burning up!”

“It’s okay,” Villanelle says, weakly batting Eve’s hand away. “I just need to sleep some more.”

“You can barely sit up!”

“I’m-” Villanelle can’t finish her sentence though, the cramps seizing her even worse. “Maybe it’s… Maybe it’s because I’ve not been taking my birth control.”

“Okay, that I can fix. What birth control were you taking? The female Alpha ones can be pretty hard to find, but I think I can get some.”

“I don’t know what it was called. The doctor would just give me a package of them every month.”

“What doctor?”

“The one that the Twelve uses. He does the check ups for all the operatives. Stitching up stab wounds when you messed up a mission, and then going in once a month for birth control and vitamin shots.”

Villanelle notices through the haze of discomfort she’s feeling that Eve’s not saying anything in response to that.

“What?”

“This doctor was just giving you pills that you didn't know the name of.”

“Yes.”

“Well who knows he was actually giving you.”

“What?”

“It was obviously in their best interests to keep you, you know, hooked on something.”

“Are you kidding me? How fucking paranoid can you be?”

“This is an international organization that exists to control and topple nations and you think they’re too ethical to drug their assets?”

“I’m going to go back to bed.”

Villanelle somehow got to her feet and staggered her way back to the bedroom, where she proceeded to spend the next eight hours staring into the darkness trying not to think about how much sense what Eve said made.

______

[The ridiculously tiny Jacquemus bag](https://www.modaoperandi.com/women/p/jacquemus/le-petit-chiquito-mini-leather-bag/337720) and [Precious Moments figurines](https://www.preciousmoments.com/figurines) including the [No Tears Past The Gate](https://www.amazon.ca/Precious-Moments-Tears-Past-101826/dp/B0013HKMRU) one *shiver of horror*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonded Omega - in the ABO genre, an Alpha and Omega can form a committed partnership by being bonded, usually through something like a mating bite, or in this universe, getting engaged/married.
> 
> Birth control - I haven't yet fully decided if female Alphas can get pregnant (I'm not putting any mpreg in this either way, though.) For now, V's birth control is to keep her from impregnating female Omegas because that is possible here.


	5. You're a Rainbow Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, fair warning, there is a couple of possible squicks in this chapter for some people. I wasn't going to address what designation and sex can impregnate each other, but because I've mainly read m/m abo, I'm finding that I am doing a lot of world building for a universe that's focused on the female Alpha more than the male ABOs. I made the executive decision to mention that mpreg is possible. This is a rare thing, and in the story, briefly mentioned. It played into the plot too much for me to avoid it. I'm not going to go into the technicality of this, however, so still, it's a low squick. 
> 
> Because this is F/F, because of the plot line and because I'm not sure yet where this story will go if I decide to write more than I have outlined so far (this story will be completed though, rest assured) I've decided to have a female Alpha able to very rarely knock up a male or female Omega. 
> 
> These two things brought in another ABO trope, which is the breeding kink. It's the idea of getting an Omega off by appealing to the primal and animalistic need to procreate. Again, this kind of language can be a squick, but I decided to include it because it fit the plot and the kind of assholery that Villanelle is capable of. 
> 
> Also tw: for some sexist and transphobic remarks from dickhead day player character in this chapter.
> 
> Thanks again to all of you for reading, commenting and kudo'ing. Again, if anything is unclear in here in terms of the ABO stuff, comment and I'll be happy to explain.

When Eve quietly taps on the bedroom door the next morning, Villanelle isn’t feeling any better. If anything, she feels even worse, something Eve picks up without her even saying anything.

“Oh wow, okay, you smell sick now.”

“Gross, thanks.”

“You know what I mean. You smell like something’s wrong. And not just because this room is acrid with your anxiety.”

“Shut up” is the pathetic response Villanelle has to this, rolling over to curl up in the fetal position, her arms wrapped around her midsection.

“You have to see a doctor.”

“I’m fine. I just need to eat real food that’s not made by a minimum wage cook and contains actual real ingredients and not laced with corn syrup and sodium.”

“Yeah, that’s not what this smells like. This is bigger than that.”

Eve comes into the room then, walking forward with a kind of confidence that only an Alpha who feels entitled by their correct opinion would have. Watching her move like this, and then feeling her cool hand press to Villanelle’s flushed face, for some reason, gives her a brief reprieve from the pain.

“You’re burning up. I’m taking you to see a doctor.”

“Are you stupid? What am I gonna do? Go in and say, oh hello, I’m in an unbelievable amount of pain and feel like my brain is being cooked inside my head. Oh and also, it might be caused by drugs I was being fed without my knowledge!”

If Eve has any kind of satisfaction from hearing Villanelle say that she was right about the mystery drugs she’s been given and exactly how shitty she feels, she doesn’t show it. If anything her brow furrows even more, and that look of pure empathy is something that Villanelle has never had directed at her before. The earnestness of it makes her simultaneously glow inside and cringe from how openly guileless it was.

“Let’s at least get you in to have your vitals checked and see what’s going on. If you end up getting questioned too much, or if they want to keep you in for observation or whatever, I can call Carolyn and we can figure out our next step, okay?”

Honestly, at this point, Villanelle is in so much discomfort just the idea of some relief is enough to make her agree to this idea. Flash forward two hours later, however, and she has rarely regretted a decision more.

They’re in the waiting room of some urgent care clinic in a strip mall in the suburbs outside Penrith, almost on the Scottish border. Posters cover the walls, ones with stock photos of smiling families walking through tall grass on a sunny day advertising rut stimulants (“be all the Alpha that your Omega needs!”) and there are pamphlets about options for unwanted pregnancies that include asking God what He thinks you should do.

“Maybe they need to consider the mix messages going on in here.” Eve says as she reads the pamphlet with the words ‘Omega Women, your duty to England and God is to bring forth as many children as possible!’ on the front of it.

“Stupid Alpha men with their limp dicks and need to impregnate every Omega woman they see. At least Alpha women can manage to not breed every piece of tail that walks in front of them.”

“Some Omegas do want that though, but I've always wondered how much of that is biological and how much of that is this kind of bullshit pressure." Eve takes in a deep breath and then mutters. "Better being a female Omega and being able to feel that need to be bred fulfilled either way. Male omegas have that instinct you know, but they can never have it happen.”

“Some can.”

“Rarely.”

“As often as a female Alpha can knock someone up.” Villanelle spies the flash of upset on Eve's face. “Was that the hope you snared Mr. Polastri with? Did you have a very special shopping day looking for a breeding toy? Did you whisper some breeding kink naughties to him while you fucked him? God, Omegas get so wet for that shit.”

Eve turns then and looks at her, incredulous.

“Really? You’re going to start a fight with me _right now_?”

“I cling to things that are familiar when I’m in high stress situations. It’s a coping mechanism. Unless you want me to use my other coping mechanism when I’m stressed out, but I’ll have to borrow your gun for that one.” Villanelle says, her mouth drawn back in disgust as a small snotty nosed child screams into his sticky hands on the floor in front of her. “You’re the one who brought me to this breeding palace.”

“Mrs Desk?” The secretary calls out.

“That’s the name I gave them for you.” Eve whispers to her.

“Mrs Desk? That's your idea of a good undercover name? And who’s my happy bride? You?”

“Just go!” Eve hisses at her.

Villanelle manages to summon up as much of her haughty bitch attitude (that in her opinion is what makes her so much fun) as possible. She stands, wobbling just a bit and not able to be fully upright but still able to glare at the slack jawed kid now looking up at her. She flashes her teeth back at him, and just as she’s stepping into the exam room, she can hear him starting to wail again. Haha enjoy, Eve!

Once she’s in the exam room, wearing a paper gown and her Balenciaga socks, she realizes that haha joke’s on her. The exam room isn’t much better than the waiting room. The table looks dubiously clean, with rusty metal stirrups and instruments look like they’ve been around for decades. That plus the posters of internal diagrams of Omega reproductive systems give this whole place a creepy gynaecologist in the 50s feel. What the fuck, where had Eve brought her?

The doctor, a balding Alpha man with a urine coloured mustache and truly old school British teeth, comes into the room. He smells like stale cigarette smoke so strongly that Villanelle can’t tell if that’s his scent or if he’s actually a smoker. Either way, it’s repulsive.

“Well, hello, dear. Not feeling too great today, hmm?” He asks, slowly, like he’s talking to a small, stupid child.

If she wasn’t suddenly seizing in her midsection from cramps, she would have knocked this guy’s teeth out for daring to talk to her in this tone. She’s going to have to rely on her very pissed off scent to let him know to back the fuck off.

“Okay, let’s get you up on the table, missy.”

Feeling as pissed off and undignified as a wet cat, Villanelle gets on the table. Just as he reaches out to push her back, her hand reaches out, and she grabs him by his stained polyester button down shirt.

“Listen to me, asshole, you try ANYTHING and you will live to regret it.”

“Oh, looks like the mood swings have started!” He says in that same condescending tone. “Just lay back, missy!”

It’s a testament to how much pain she’s in that she lets this disgusting man touch her. He prods her stomach, hmm’ing to himself, and then moves down to her lower torso. Just when she’s about to hiss at him that that’s low enough, he presses his fingers into a particular spot that causes her to howl in pain.

“Oh, there, there, be a brave girl, honey.” He pushes again, and it hurts so much, it’s like being stabbed with a very dull knife (which is something she knows intimately) and she shouts out again. “Yes, this one’s going to be a doozy! Well, young lady, that’s what you get for interfering with nature and taking heat suppressants! Don’t you know that God intended for you to be open and let an Alpha plant his seed in you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Villanelle shouts, her eyes now smarting with tears from the pain.

“Now, now, no one likes a potty mouthed Omega!”

“I’m an Alpha, you moron!” This draws the doctor back, and his face goes from condescending pity to outrage.

“Listen, other immoral places might think you denying your true nature is just fine, but here, we know that things like gender and designation change is against the will of God. If you need any proof of that, look at how your body is rejecting the synthetic hormones you’ve been shooting up with.” He shakes his head at her, judgement in his eyes. “God is showing you the way now, giving you a heat so strong that you’re going to need an Alpha to get through it. That’s the only way this next couple of days aren’t going to be unbearable for you. Though I doubt you’ll find any Alpha who would lay with an abomination like you.”

NO NO NO NO NO NO

Villanelle tries to stand up, but the cramps are so much worse now that she falls off the side of the table and lands on her knees, hard. She doesn’t even realize that she’s crying out in pain until the door slams open, and there’s Eve, her face red with fury.

“Get away from her!!” Eve says in an Alpha voice so forceful that the doctor is repelled away, showing his neck in submission.

“It’s not my fault that this freak doesn’t want to be as God made her!” He still manages to say back.

“Fuck you!!” Villanelle manages to growl at him. “I’m exactly as I am meant to be, a fucking Alpha who’s about to rip your fucking throat out!!”

“Villanelle,” Eve says, and there’s something in her voice, in the way it wraps around her name, and there, in her expression, that empathy, and this, this tenderness and UGH GROSS NO THIS CAN NOT BE HAPPENING!!!

Eve must recognize that Villanelle’s mental state is rapidly deteriorating because suddenly she’s there, next to her, taking her own coat and wrapping it around Villanelle, supporting her as they walk out, through the waiting room, where the receptionist is looking at them in pure disgust.

“Why would you allow your Omega to act like this?” She says to Eve, ignoring Villanelle completely.

“Because she’s allowed to do what she wants, asshole!” Eve barks back at her.

Once they 're walking back to the car Villanelle's panicked brain gets highjacked by something, some scent, and she realizes she's getting her first hint of Eve’s scent, ever so slight, on the still warm collar of her coat, and it’s almost… it’s citrusy, but with a hint of something warm… like the clove oranges that she would make when she was little with her mother….

That lost moment, long gone and soured by the abandonment that followed, makes her spine straighten, and her head clears long enough for her to think of only one thing. She has to get the hell out of here, and fix whatever the fuck is happening to her ASAP.

As Eve reaches out with the keys to unlock Villanelle’s door, she reaches out and hits her solidly on her upper back, causing her to instantly buckle in pain. Villanelle, her body now full of adrenaline and feeling no pain, bends down to scoop up where Eve has dropped the keys, shoves her hard to the side, and jumps into the passenger side, locking the door, and moving over to the driver’s seat. She jams the keys in, starts the car, and is peeling out of the parking lot, tyres squealing so loud that she can barely hear Eve calling out her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, hence, the twist. Surprise! 😁😁
> 
> Showing the neck as an act of submission is much like an animal showing its underbelly to a dominate force. 
> 
> Synthetic hormones - Because I'm using gender and designation interchangeable in this story, I decided that designation change would be similar to gender change. I want everyone to rest assured that I'm going to approach any metaphorical or direct references to transitioning genders in a respectful manner. I spent much of this week fighting with those JK Rowling loving transphobes on my twitter, so I'm cognizant of the kind of vitriol that trans people have to deal with by just being their true selves.
> 
> Needing an Alpha for a heat - Omegas are usually able to get through a heat on their own using toys, but it is more difficult. This time, because she's not had to deal with the heat hormones before, V will not have the wherewithal to be able to fuck her hornys out herself, and will need someone to take care of her through it. I wonder who that will be...


	6. Miss Claire's Tea Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating increase due to Villanelle's dirty mind. And also to note, that because I'm developing story lines as the story plays out, some past aspects of the story might be altered, in terms of ABO lore.

Villanelle has no idea where she’s going. She barely has a cohesive thought in her head. All she knows is that she needs to get out of there, get somewhere else, anywhere else, away from that fucking doctor, from Eve, from the utter bullshit that she was just presented with.

She is NOT an Omega. Nothing about her is an Omega. She’s not this simpering, weak creature. The thought of being nothing but a hole to be fucked, to be bred, to be filled with come and dick and breeding dildos and then popping out babies makes her fucking SICK. She’s the definition of an Alpha, and she uses that right to do what she wants, to get what she wants. Look at all the Omegas she’s fucked, all the sweet slick that’s leaked over her chin, the places her hands have been, inside heat drenched cunts, all begging for her to fuck them.

All the people she’s killed, the strength, the intuitive nature of her natural talent to kill, she’s not just an Alpha, she’s an apex Alpha. She’s so dominant that she makes other Alphas quiver before her.

Not Eve though. Eve never once bowed to Villanelle’s posturing, never once was intimidated by all that Villanelle had done, all that she was capable of. She’d faced her head on each time, not with violence, but with a quickness, a constant, stable push back. It was Eve who had protected her, who’d stood up to the attackers the Twelve had sent, who burst into the doctor’s office when she heard Villanelle crying out in pain. The thought of Eve’s Alpha voice making that piece of shit doctor cower, the feeling of being safe, trusting Eve completely to take care of her, being so encompassed by her, held by her…. Villanelle feels a warmth in her, a rush of relief in her spasming midsection, just the idea of Eve protecting her making some of the pain fade, making her feel another sensation, a sort of pooling low in her belly, a pulsing thrum…

In this moment of reverie, Villanelle forgets she’s driving a vehicle going approximately 80 kilometers an hour, and the car is listing to the left so much that the only thing that snaps her back is the sound of the side of the car squealing as it skids off the steel embankment on the side of the road.

“FUCK!”

This is too much, it’s too much, there’s so many things going on in her head, in her body. She has to fix this, she has to prove that there’s no way she’s an Omega. Who would be able to prove this to her? Who, besides herself, knows her so well that they’d never even doubt that she’s an Alpha who resides at the top of the food chain?

An image of Konstantin, his big bear like body shaking with his loud laughter, flashes into her mind, and in that moment, she is so bereft, so alone, that all she can do is pull the car onto the side of the road, slam on the brakes, and put her face in her hands as she starts to sob.

She’s so scared, so unsure in that moment, she feels like she’s flying apart into a thousand pieces. Ugly sobs are coming out of her from some deep place inside, and she feels herself starting to shake. What has she done? How could she do this to Konstantin? He was the only person she had, and now she’d betrayed him, and she’s alone. A haunting of a feeling, of that first night in the orphanage, terrified about how completely alone she is comes back, and she’s suddenly that little five year old girl again, powerless and abandoned.

Something starts to creep in though, something faint, but insistent. She can barely discern it, trying to take in a breath through her nose, past all the snot pouring out of it from her pathetic, shameful crying. It’s there, that warm citrusy scent. Villanelle turns her head, burying her face into the collar of Eve’s jacket, and pulls it in. She moves on instinct, seeking out more of it, leaning forward and smelling it on the steering wheel, on the tacky fake leather there.

As she starts to unconsciously take in deep breaths of it, a calm starts to fall over her. Her shoulders relax, her sobs taper off. The pain in her midsection is still there, but it’s not incapacitating her now. And this scent….This is the most luscious, soothing, warming scent she’s ever taken in.

In this moment of calm lucidity she is able to pull the car back on the road and drive in a more controlled manner. Taking in deep inhalations, she pulls the car off the nearest exit and pulls into the first parking lot she sees.

The sign on the building she’s pulled up to is “Miss Claire’s Tea Room”. It’s a small, Tudor style building, and Villanelle can see a warm, golden light inside. Half feral as she is right now, all she can recognize is the warmth, comfort, and safety that light seems to be giving off. She gets out of the car and goes inside.

The bell at the door tinkles a pretty sound when she walks in. The room is small, and filled with approximately four tables, each with two antique chairs, wrought iron backed with fuzzy pink cushions. The smell is warm cookies, hot tea, and something else, a floral note, a subtle scent of fresh roses. A short, older lady with a cloud of white hair and a lace apron smiles at her as she walks in the doorway on the opposite side of the room.

“Well, hello, dear! Welcome!”

Her smile wavers and then disappears and Villanelle realizes she must look hideous, her face all puffy, her nose and eyes red from all the crying.

“Oh goodness, oh goodness!” The older woman is coming to her, hands out, and Villanelle falls into it when she comes up to her side and wraps an arm around her back. She’s being guided to a chair before she even realizes it. “Oh, my dear, it’s okay.”

The innate maternal kindness of this makes Villanelle feel worse and better at the same time.

“Let me guess, Alpha problems.” The lady says, rubbing a soothing hand over Villanelle’s back. “What a bunch of idiots they can be!”

She’s not wrong. Villanelle decides to go with it.

“Yes, it’s… it’s an Alpha problem.”

“Well, let Miss Claire get you a cuppa, and some scones with heaps of cream and marmalade, and you can tell me all about it.” With this she’s bustling out of the room, and Villanelle only has time to pull Eve’s stupid giant parka tighter around her, closing her eyes briefly, before she’s back, holding a cup of tea and a multi tiered tea service piled high with fluffy looking scones.

“Now what’s their name?”

Villanelle looks at the kind, smiling face in front of her, then around her, at what can only be described as a cozy, doily filled den, and realizes that she’s stepped into the heart of Omegadom.

She waits for that impulse that always comes up when she’s in Omega spaces, that predatory sense of entitlement and desire. She looks at Miss Claire, and sees a beautiful, soft, older Omega, and expects to feel that need to dominate, to take over this space and this Omega.

But it doesn’t come. All she can feel is a growing fear, about the truth of her, a truth that has been taken from her for so long.

“Do you…” She tries to speak through her sob ravaged throat. “Do you like being an Omega?”

“Well, goodness, what a question.” Miss Claire takes a breath, her brow wrinkling with thought. “I suppose I do.”

“Why?” Villanelle is suddenly desperate to know.

“Well…. I like making a space where people feel comfortable. I like being able to know just what to do to help someone. And I like the… the softness of it. So much of the world is so rough, so sharp edged. It’s nice to be able to give comfort in such a world.”

“But what about… what about Alphas? Doesn’t it feel horrible to know that you’re less than them? That you are nothing without them?”

“Oh, woah, woah, there, my girl. You’re talking to an Omegaist here! And I know the truth, that that outdated way of thinking about designations is a way to try and deny Omegas’s rights, their ability to choose how they live their lives and do with their bodies.”

This was not what Villanelle was expecting at all. She shouldn’t be surprised really. This is one of the first conversations she’s ever had with an Omega where she’s not actively trying to fuck them. Or kill them.

Miss Claire reaches across the table to take Villanelle’s hand into hers.

“You don’t need an Alpha to think you have purpose. You’re enough as you are. I can tell you’re just a lovely lass.”

The obvious untruth of this makes Villanelle let out a bitter laugh.

“Now what’s making you ask all these questions?” Miss Claire asks.

“I think I might not be… who I thought I was.”

“Well, that can be scary. But if you’re starting to think like a modern Omega, there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, you’re doing exactly what you should.”

“But if an Omega's sole purpose isn’t to be bred and crawling with babies and stuck in a kitchen all day, then what are they supposed to do?”

“Well, sweetheart, we’re supposed to do whatever we want, and damned those blockhead Alphas for thinking differently.” She smiles broadly at Villanelle. “Oh I’m so glad you came in here. I think that this is exactly the place for you. After all, us Omegas have to stick together!”

“What do you mean?!?” Villanelle feels the panic creeping up on her now.

“I’m assuming you’re okay with people knowing you’re an Omega, sweetheart. I think it’s great that you’ve embraced your scent. I’m all for scent blockers, but honestly, you smell so… well like something baking.” Miss Claire discreetly scents her. “It’s warm, kind of milky. And a hint of sweetness, almost like, like honey. Oh I bet that the Alphas just love it.”

If this is so real that her cedar and smoked paprika scent has turned into the promised land of the Israelites then this must actually be happening. This must actually be true.

Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!

She’s just starting to feel the panic rush over her when the door of the tea shop is flung open so hard, the little bell goes flying. Before she even turns to look, Villanelle can smell it, stronger than she has yet to.

Spiciness, with a bit of sharpness, not overwhelming though, more… refreshing. It’s like something cool is being poured over her, and her churning gut starts to instantly settle. When she looks, there’s Eve, a franticness in her eyes.

“How did you find me?”

“The GPS, the car….”

“Well this must be the Alpha who’s causing all this girl’s troubles.” Miss Claire goes up to Eve, and proceeds to shake a finger in her face. “Listen, I don’t have any problems with female Alphas. I think you’re capable of being just as much of a blockhead as the boys are. But you need to clear that dumb Alpha brain of yours for a second and take in the fact that your girl here is about to go into pre-heat, and all she’s feeling right now is confusion and hurt. Didn’t your ma teach you how to cherish your Omega?”

Eve takes a deep breath in then, confusion written over her face. Villanelle can pinpoint the exact moment she gets it.

“It’s true, then. I was scenting you correctly.” Eve’s wide eyed as she approaches her. “Oh my god, Villanelle, this is… the violation of this. The loss of your agency! I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

This, really, is what breaks Villanelle in the end. The empathy, the kindness, the genuine upset directed towards her. It’s all hitting her hard now. The trembling gets worse, the tears start to gather in her eyes, and all she can think is, thank god, Eve is here, she’s here, she’ll make sure I am safe.

“I can see that there’s a conversation that needs to happen here, so I’m just going to leave you to it.” Miss Claire goes to Villanelle, and lays her hand gently on her shoulder. “I’ll just be in the back making the savory for today. You give out a shout if you need me.”

After the door to the kitchen closes, it’s just her and Eve and this horrible truth in the room.

“Eve, I didn’t know… how can this be true? They were… they made me think…” Villanelle’s head is fucking spinning and she can’t yet speak out what’s happening in any kind of cohesive manner.

“They didn’t just make you think, they made you into an Alpha.” Eve goes to sit in the chair opposite her. “And you can be one again. I can get you the hormones if you want, proper ones…”

“Oh god, yes, okay, okay. I can take the hormones again, and then I’ll still be me.” She stops for a second, and remembers that slimy doctor. “But I don’t think that I’m going to be able to avoid… that rat at the clinic, he told me…he said that I’m about to go into… and Miss Claire, she said I’m about to go into pre….”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s really not, Eve! That rat told me that this is going to be… be a horrible intense heat. That my body is resetting and I’m going to be taken over by… god, who even am I now?! How can this be real?!”

“Listen to me, I’m going to find us a safe house…”

“NO! I don’t want MI6 to know that I’m… no one can know, Eve!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll find us a hotel then, one with a heat room, and you can just ride it out in there. They’ll have everything you need, things to make this easier for you. The toys, and lots of blankets in case you need to nest…”

“Fuck! What the fuck?! I’m going to… I’m about to…” The reality of what she’s about to go through is starting to dawn on her. “Eve, this heat, it’s going to be… I don’t think toys are going to be enough.”

“It's not a good idea for you to go out and find some Alpha right now, Villanelle. That’s definitely not safe.”

Something starts to occur to her, a thought so foreign that she can’t actualize it at first. Then, that scent is there, still subtle, but her sense of smell now is suddenly heightened to a level she’s never experienced before. She’d always heard about Omega senses, scent, touch, being more attuned, more perceptive.

Villanelle thinks about the drive here, about how the scent of Eve on her collar had calmed her enough to be able to drive again. She remembers being choked by stupid Vlad and Eve appearing suddenly, and that feeling she had at being protected. Then there’s Eve now, her face so full of compassion, looking at her in a way no one ever has before.

“Eve, it has to be you.”

“What?”

“You’re the only one who I can trust right now.”

“No, absolutely not. That would be beyond inappropriate.”

“Eve, I’m in so much pain right now, and it’s only going to get worse. I know what it looks like when an Omega is left alone during a regular heat. I can’t imagine what this is going to be like for me, if it’s going to be as intense and horrible as it might be.”

“But I can’t…”

This reject smarts, hurting on some deep level, and for godsake, doesn’t Eve know what rejection does to an… oh god, an Omega like her…

“If you don’t want to with me, that’s fine. But if that’s the case, I’m going to need… pain killers… or, fuck….” She’s overwhelmed by the pain, physically and emotionally.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…”

“What?” Villanelle is filled with intense loathing when she realizes that her heart literally skipped a beat at this.

“I mean, of course I want to.” Eve’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “You’re beautiful and really, you know…. very fuckable.”

Villanelle feels that thrumming again, down in her pussy, and something else, something new, a rush of something. She’s horrified when she takes in the scent of her own arousal, and knows in that moment that it’s her slick, making her wet and ready. She can’t stop herself now.

“Please, Eve….” The desperation in her voice is something she hasn’t heard in years. “Please, help me….”

Something flicks on in Eve’s face, and it’s like everything falls into place.

“I will. I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breeding dildos - I've decided that in this story there's going to be a kind of dildo/heat toy that facilitates an Alpha female's ability to knock up an Omega man or woman. 
> 
> Alpha presence and Omega heats - A chosen Alpha, with their pheromones and scent, being close during an Omega's pre-heat/heat can help lessen the discomfort. Emotionally the presence of an Alpha can help soothe an Omega by making them feel protected and cared for while they are so vulnerable during a heat.
> 
> Heat Room - Rooms in hotels set aside for an Omega to go through their heat in. The idea of this is that an Omega would need a specific space with all the things to make a heat go easier, as well as keeping the scent of an Omega in heat contained.


	7. Comfort Inn's 2 for 1 Night Heat Room Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to three chapters of heat sex!

The hotel Eve finds for them ends up being actually more mid-range franchise than roadside hovel, which Villanelle decides is Eve’s idea of meeting her in the middle. Unfortunately when they end up in the heat room, it’s not quite what they’re expecting.

“Oh god,” Eve mutters under her breath, looking around at the round bed sprinkled with rose petals, the big soaker tub in the corner of the room as luridly red as the inside of a very willing mouth.

“This is a nightmare. I am asleep and I will wake up and this horribleness will be gone.” Villanelle says from where she’d pressed against the wall in horrified terror at all the plastic romance in front of her.

“It’s not that bad.” Eve opens the gold painted treasure chest that’s up on its own little platform in the middle of the room and then slams it shut immediately.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know what I was expecting considering,” she gestures around the room, “but let’s say that if you do want to use toys, you have a wide selection.”

“Are you blushing? How are heat toys making you blush? Weren’t you married to an Omega?”

“He was always fine with… the solution we came up with.”

“Oh god, I don’t want to know about your boring ass sex life with him. No wonder he left you if he never got what he wanted.”

“If your faith in my abilities is wavering, there’s always this.” Eve flings open the chest again and pulls out a neon pink silicone dildo the length and thickness of a lumberjack’s arm.

“Jesus Christ! Are you kidding me? What kind of misguided bullshit is that? Do they really think dicks that big exist?” Villanelle rolls her eyes. “God, I hate male Alphas.”

“No arguments from me on that one.” Eve walks around the room, inspecting the filtration devices and the seals on the window. “At least this place is definitely scent proof. Though the irony of some Alpha trying to get in here to steal you away from me is pretty intense, considering how much you like to poach Omegas.”

“I only poach the willing, thank you very much. I’m not some rape happy Alpha taking advantage of Omegas when they’re too deep in the heat to say no.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, you’re right.” Eve stops, uncertainty on her face. “And you do… consent to me being here? You’re clear minded enough to say that?”

“Oh my god, yes, Eve.”

“Are you sure? You’ve already had so much of your agency taken from--”

“Please stop talking about my agency. It was just hormones, I wasn’t taken against my will.”

“Weren’t you?”

“UUUGGGGHHHH STOP!”

“Okay, sorry, that's a conversation for another time. Just as long as you’re sure…”

“Would you like me to sign a sworn affidavit?”

“I mean, maybe.”

At this point, Villanelle can’t discern between her annoyance and the current miserable state of her body. She pushes off the wall and immediately her lower back starts seizing, causing her to freeze in a bent position.

“FUCK! JESUS! HOW DO OMEGAS DEAL WITH THIS BULLSHIT?!” She says, trying to breathe through the pain.

“Hey, okay, I can help.” Eve comes over to her side and gently helps walk her over to the bed.

“I am not fucking sitting on those rose petals.”

“Okay, okay.” Eve reaches out to shove the blanket off, revealing red satin sheets underneath. “Well, that’s not much better but it’s all we got at the moment.”

She helps Villanelle lay down on the bed, and as soon as she’s horizontal, Villanelle curls up as much as she can in the fetal position. She can feel Eve hovering at the edge of the bed behind her.

“What is it?!” She grinds out through clenched teeth.

“I just, I know what will help.”

“Well then do it!!”

“Okay, I’m just going to go check what they have. I’ll be right back.”

Villanelle sees her going into the bathroom, flicking the light on and rummaging around. She comes back with an armful of stuff and sits on the other side of the bed next to her.

“Wow, this place is really well stocked.” She holds up a bottle of pills. “This is a scent stimulant. If I take it, my scent will get stronger and help relax you. It’ll help make the spasms better.”

“Then fucking take it!”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure that my scent’s going to be okay for you. I don’t know if we’re scent compatible. I mean, I know yours is, you know, kind of amazing.”

“Which one?” Villanelle says, managing to glare at Eve in her current state being a real accomplishment, but she does it, thank you very much.

“Oh, uh, you know, the cedary one was nice, but now, this is just… Can I…”

Just the idea of being scented by Eve makes a jolt zing through her, landing squarely in her already wet pussy. Eve leans closer, her hands on the bed in front of her, and takes in a deep breath. Villanelle sees her eyes closing, and the look on her face is… oh fuck, there’s that jolt again.

“You smells fucking delicious.”

Much to her horror, Villanelle hears the slightest little mew come out of her at this. She prays to every god ever that Eve didn’t hear it.

“Take the pills, Eve.” She says, clamping her jaw shut as she tries to ignore everything that’s happening to her in this nightmare.

After swallowing them down, Eve places some other stuff on the bed and picks up a bottle of massage oil.

“You might as well take your clothes off. It’s kind of an inevitability at this point.”

Villanelle tries to pull her arm out of her sleeve in the most awkward way possible, and ends up flailing miserably.

“Can I… do you need…”

“OH MY GOD, EVE.” Villanelle shouts. “If you were always this timid, I promise you, your husband was never satisfied. BE AN ALPHA. TAKE CONTROL.”

They lock eyes then, Villanelle daring her. She watches as the resolve settles on Eve’s face, and then she’s being manhandled out of her pants, her very expensive Thom Browne ones, then the matching Oxford button up is a little more tenderly taken off her, and without missing a beat, Eve unhooks her Fleur de Mal bra, slides it down her arms and flings it on the side of the bed. Eve sits back and her eyes sweep over her, and unconsciously she starts taking in deep inhalations.

This whole thing has made Villanelle go from mildly turned on to starting to unconsciously squirm. She can feel her slick now, damp on her inner thighs and she presses them together, tight, trying to relieve the ache in her pussy, the throb becoming very uncomfortable in its insistence.

Eve reaches out and gently runs her fingertips down Villanelle’s back, causing goosebumps to cover her arms. She notices, and runs them down her back again and again, until she’s settling them on the exact spot that hurts in Villanelle’s lower back.

“If you can handle it, try laying on your stomach and I’ll rub your back with this oil. It’ll help the pain until the scent stimulants kick in.”

Villanelle very gingerly moves, finding the cramps in her stomach have lessened enough for her to be able to stretch out straight, rolling onto her belly. Eve moves on the bed to sit next to her, and Villanelle hears the oil bottle being opened, and then blissful hands pressing deep into the ache in her back, over and over and okay, there’s no way she can stop the moan that comes out from this.

She lays in this comfort for who knows how long, less turned on and more relieved at the pain finally starting to lessen. Eventually though, the smell of spice and citrus starts to revive her, stronger now than she has yet to smell it. She takes in a long deep inhalation of it without conscious thought, and she feels Eve’s hands freeze on her back.

“I take it the stimulants have kicked in.” The voice has a note of surety that honestly, Villanelle didn’t think Eve capable of. It makes her take in another deep breath, and she feels a warmth inside her growing, and the muscles in her body are untensing as she melts into the mattress.

Moving in an unconscious way, she reaches out to run her hands over the satin sheets, the silky softness feeling incredible on her skin. But there’s something missing. She needs something more.

“There’s blankets in the closet. Do you want me to bring you some?”

Yes, yes, that’s it, that’s exactly what she wants. She nods frantically, and Eve is up and back again so quickly that she must have run. Eve places the folded blankets in front of her and Villanelle slowly sits up, and starts to pull them up and around her, moving everything about in a way that is frustratingly unsatisfactory.

“Wait a minute, I know what you’re looking for.” Eve comes back with something that looks like a giant elongated donut.

“Oh god, is that what I think it is?”

“Please tell me you didn’t deny the Omegas you fucked through their heats a nesting pillow.”

“Of course not. I have a Versace Home one filled with goose down and made of Italian silk.”

“Well, this one’s going to have to do.”

At this point, Villanelle doesn’t have it in her to snark back at that, especially when she moves the pillow where she wants it and crawls into the middle of it, and honestly never felt so comfy and contained in her life. Eve’s handing her the blankets again before she even has to ask, and Villanelle brings them up and around her, all this extremely soft polyester feeling better on her skin than the most expensive cashmere ever has.

Once she has everything just right, when she’s completely consumed by blankets and the pillow with only her head sticking out, she’s content. Almost content. Again, there’s something missing. She looks up at Eve in confusion, and before she even has to say it, Eve is pulling the ugly grey print jumper she’s wearing off and carefully placing it on the blankets next to Villanelle’s face so all she has to do is turn her head, and breathe in the warm scent.

“Feeling a little better?” Villanelle nods back, peeking up at Eve from under the blankets. “You want to have a little something to eat now? You’re going to need your strength and it may be a bit before you’re going to be wanting anything but, you know.”

“‘M not hungry.” Villanelle’s voice is muffled by the blankets.

“Too bad. You’ve got to eat. And we have to get some water in you. You’re about to lose a lot of your fluids.”

“Gross.”

Eve laughs quietly at that, getting up and going over to the little kitchenette on the other side of the room. Villanelle drifts for a bit in the coziness of her nest, and is only roused by Eve’s hand softly pulling back the blanket from her face.

“Here.” She’s holding up what looks like a protein bar. Villanelle shakes her head no. “I’m not asking.”

She pulls off a bit of it and holds her hand out in front of Villanelle’s face until she gets the hint. In an act of revenge, Villanelle leans forward, and keeping eye contact with her, takes the food from her fingers, sucking just a bit on them as she does.

“You want to play it like that? Already?”

Villanelle crooks a challenging eyebrow at her. Eve smirks then, and holds out another bite. Villanelle takes it, and the next and the next, until she’s eaten the whole thing, never breaking eye contact with Eve. Next she’s presented with a bottle of water with a straw in it.

“Drink all this down.” Eve says in something very close to her Alpha voice, and any cheekiness Villanelle might have in response disappears as she feels something surge in her, and she rushes to obey.

“There you go. That’s good.” Eve says it in a soft voice, and the approval makes that jolt go through her again.

Through her haze, she notices Eve’s cheeks have flushed, and her pupils are large and black. Holy shit, Eve is into it. She’s already so into it. Even without any rut starters, she’s responding. That must mean that she’s not just doing this because Villanelle asked her, she must feel it too.

God, let her feel it too, says the quiet voice in her head, one completely unfamiliar to her.

She starts to feel squirmy again, unable to help it as she wiggles about in her nest. She’s still squeezing her thighs together tight, but now it's not enough.

“Do you want to try one of the toys? Maybe the vibrator? Just to start you off?” Eve asks in a soft voice.

It’s not really what she wants, but she’s too scared (HER?! SCARED?!) to ask for what her body is starting to demand, so she nods.

Eve comes back with a much less intimidating toy, a lay on vibe in a subdued navy blue. Villanelle sneaks out a hand to grab it, bringing it into the nest. She peels the soaking wet panties away from her body enough to shove the vibrator in there, and turns it on. The shock of it makes her squeak, another mortifying noise in what apparently is going to be a whole night (or nights!?) of them.

Grinding up against the toy takes the edge off, but it’s too…soft. Just not enough. She whines in frustration and she knows her face must be all squished up when she feels Eve’s hand stroking her hair off her face, over and over.

“Shh, shh,” she’s cooing softly as her, and Villanelle feels a lightness in her chest, and she takes a deep breath in and it is….

Fucking, utter bliss, that scent, so… it’s like it’s reaching into every part of her, settling in her lungs, her muscles, her bones, her brain. She seeks it out, turning so her nose is pressed to Eve’s wrist, where it is so strong, trying to chase it as it moves, until her hand sneaks out and grabs it, holding it against her nose.

God, this scent, it’s everything, it’s warmth and comfort and she wants more, she needs more, and without realizing it, she’s rubbing Eve’s wrist over her own throat, over her hot cheeks, marking herself with Eve’s scent.

“Fuck.” Eve breathes out and that sound, that word, breathless and unbiddened, it’s enough to make her keen, press up into the vibe and feel a release, her first release, the throbbing thundering in her, and even though she’s coming, it’s not enough.

“More, Eve, more, I need more, I need more…”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you….”

______

As I do with every story I write, I have made a playlist of songs that have inspired me while I've been writing, as well as ones that go with the story, including the Soko song that inspired the title. [Check it out here! ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Syo7cffZI8Qbab0GANRLb?si=HABvX5ALSWy-TZ_Sy9LRTA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nest - when an Omega is in heat, they have the impulse to build a nest for themselves (and possibly their Alpha, if they deem them worthy.) The softer the blankets (because of their heightened senses) and the more enclosed they feel, the better. 
> 
> Marking - A concentration of scent happens on the wrist and in the neck, behind the ears. To rub that scent onto another is an act of marking, a temporary act of possession.


	8. Sex Ed

Her blankets are being pulled back, but she’s not cold without them. In fact, her skin has become fever hot now, burning from within, and she’s squirming, rolling onto her back and undulating her hips. She closes her eyes, the humiliation of this mixing with the need.

“Oh, look at you, look at you.” Eve’s voice is close, and Villanelle blindly turns towards it. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Villanelle whimpers at this, because, god, yes, please, she wants that, she needs that, she needs… she needs Eve to…

Then there’s hands peeling her panties down her legs and off her, and then fingers at her center, where she is wetter than she ever thought possible. She can feel it all over her thighs, can smell it herself even, honeyed and coying.

Eve’s hand is moving, quickly, but it’s not enough.

“Eve, I need… I need more….”

“I can use a different toy if you…”

“NO! No, I want… I want you!”

“You’ll have me, you’ll have me.”

With her eyes still closed, she isn’t ready for the feeling of Eve lifting her lower body up and pulling her hips until they’re resting on the pillow. She feels a breathy mew come out of her at being so maneuvered, her legs are being opened, and weight is settling between them.

“Villanelle, look at me.”

And it’s the Alpha voice, and she has to, she has to.

When she opens her eyes, she sees Eve there, bringing her mouth close to her centre.

“I’ve never done this before. So you tell me what you want, and I will do it.”

At any other time, Villanelle would have taken this info and ran with it, mercilessly teasing Eve, but at this moment, and the way it’s said, like it’s a command, makes her shiver with want.

“Just...just lick, flick your tongue around my clit. Then, then, god, Eve, just, suck on it. God, please.”

Eve’s mouth is on her immediately, and after a couple of aborted attempts, she finds her clit, now so swollen and big. After just a few flicks, Eve is sucking on it, long pulls, hard, giving her a fucking clit job with the skill and instinct of the most experienced sex worker. Villanelle’s whole body tightens, and she’s arching her back, her feet planted firmly as she’s lifting her pussy towards Eve’s mouth.

“Yes! Oh, god! Yes! Fuck... fuck…. Eve this is….”

The force of the orgasm that seizes her entire body is beyond anything she’s ever experienced before. She devolves into high pitched keening noises, animalistic and all consuming, and all she can smell, all she can feel is her bliss mixed with Eve’s.

But Eve’s not done. She keeps on pulling Villanelle’s clit into her mouth, sucking on it harder and harder, and then she’s coming more? Again? She’s making noises that have never come out of her mouth before and she reaches down and twines her hands into Eve’s insane, gorgeous fucking curls and she starts to grind against Eve’s mouth.

“Fucking suck on it, Eve,” her voice is breathy and rough and forceful, and Eve takes in a long hard pull on her clit and she’s not just coming apart, she’s fucking exploding.

She rides this wave of fucking bliss, and then it’s too much, her clit is so senstive, and it’s like she’s pressed against a live wire, the buzzing of it is so close, so intense. She goes to pull away, but Eve reaches up and clamps a hand on each hip, pinning her in place and flicking her tongue over Villanelle’s clit, over and over and over and Villanelle can’t, she can’t handle it, it’s so much, it’s so much and fuck, fuck, she’s fucking coming again, and Eve isn’t relenting, she’s lashing her clit, rougher and rougher and Villanelle is simultaneously trying to pull away and push in, and she’s trying, she’s trying...

She feels the slightly sharp sting of Eve’s teeth brushing over her clit and it’s fucking over for her. She’s arching her back off the bed and letting out a long ridiculous sounding HEEEEEEEE as she comes so hard that she can feel herself flooding Eve’s mouth with her slick. Her breaths are bellowing out of her as she finally collapses, and all she can think is Eve, Eve, Eve….

She floats after this, in a way she’s never felt before. Her skin is tingling, and she can feel the glide of the satin under her back, the air against her naked skin. The rush of cold air against her soaking wet pussy when she feels Eve pull away makes her gasp.

“Ohhh, you liked that, huh?” And then, because Eve apparently likes to torture weak, defenseless creatures, she blows on Villanelle’s center, and the coolness of it on her hypersensitive clit makes her break out in shivers. “God, your pussy is so pretty.”

Villanelle’s floatiness blooms into a sense of pleasure, of delight on some instinctive level. Her Alpha is pleased with your pussy! her tratrous brain tells her, and she starts to wiggle and keen without even realizing it.

Her eyelids start to open without her consciously realizing it, and she sees Eve looking down at her, her lips and chin soaked, and something about it fries Villanelle’s brain with contradictory responses. On one hand JESUS FUCKING CHRIST GOD she’s never been more fucking turned on in her life, but also JESUS FUCKING CHRIST GOD she’s so fucking mortified.

She goes with the familiar and rolls away from Eve, clamping her legs shut. This will be over soon, and she can go back to winning all the points. At least she’s gotten some orgasms out of it.

“If you think that you’re done now, then you haven’t been paying proper attention to your Omegas during heats.”

“I know I’m not done now!” Villanelle weakly bats back at her from over her shoulder. “I’m just having a moment to myself!”

“Okay, okay.”

She feels Eve get off the bed, and hears the tap in the bathroom turning on and off, and then the overhead light is turned off. Eve comes into her eye line again when she comes to her side of the bed and turns on the lamp on the bedside table.

The golden light suddenly hitting Eve’s features makes her look so beautiful that Villanelle can’t look away.

“What?” Eve asks and Villanelle realizes that she must have been gaping.

“Nothing. Your hair looks stupid.” Villanelle says, burying her face into her nest again.

“Yours is looking pretty stupid itself.” She softens this by reaching out and pushing what Villanelle is assuming is a rat’s nest of hair away from Villanelle’s face.

The touch is so tender that she has to close her eyes tight in case Eve sees them start to fill.

“I wonder what it’s going to feel like when your G-spot is stimulated now.”

“What?!” This is so completely random that she has to look up at Eve.

“Your G-spot.”

“I don’t have a G-spot. I’m an Alpha.” Villanelle stops. “Or… I was…”

“Okay, Alphas have G-spots, as do Omegas. You’ve always had one.”

“No they don’t.”

“Trust me. I have a G-spot.”

“Then maybe you’re an Omega too.” Villanelle snarks at her, and is completely derailed when Eve leans forward to press her wrist to Villanelle’s nose.

“Do I smell like an Omega to you?”

Villanelle’s hand whips out and grabs onto Eve’s hand and she takes in a deep amazing delicious inhale of Eve’s citrus warmth, now with something else mixed in, something almost...peppery. For fucksake it’s amazing, and Villanelle can’t help herself, she licks Eve’s wrist, one solid stripe, to pull that taste into her mouth. She completely misses what Eve’s reaction to this might be because of the heady rush the taste gives her. By the time she’s coherent enough to open her eyes, though, Eve is there, starting to crowd into her space with the entitlement of an Alpha, almost hulking over her and fuck, Villanelle can actually feel herself starting to purr every so slightly.

“Have you never had penetrative sex before? Not even with yourself?” Eve is asking her in this low, husky tone and all Villanelle can do is shake her head, not trusting her voice.

She’s always been the one with the strap on, thank you very much. When she comes during sex, it’s usually because she’s dildo deep into a sweet piece of pussy, and the feeling of it, of knowing she’s fucking an Omega open makes her have a great, shuddering orgasm, a sense of self satisfiaction with a job well done mixing with her own release. But this time, all she knows is that her eyes must be as big as saucers right now, because it’s the only way she can communicate to Eve that, yes, she would very much like to try that.

“Looks like I get to be the one to take your virginity then.” Eve grins at her as Villanelle snorts in response to this.

“Don’t get too inflated there, Alpha. My virginity is long gone. I’ve just always been the fucker, not the fuckee.”

“Well, welcome to being a bottom, Villanelle.” And with that Eve is pressing her shoulder until she’s lying on her back in her nest again, her legs falling open. “Be a good little girl and stay here.”

Oh GOD, GOD, FUCK, Villanelle knows that Eve’s saying that as a joke (IS SHE?!) but she feels her whole body tremble for just a moment at being called that, at the idea of being Eve’s good little girl. Thankfully Eve doesn’t notice because she’s making her way over to the treasure chest and bringing back a thankfully more realistically sized knotless dildo, and Villanelle recognizes the curved shape of it. It’s specifically for the g-spot. God help her.

“Let’s start you off with this one. Nicely sized beginners.”

She’s done this part to many Omegas, the parting the legs, and the slow press in with the dildo, but being on this end of it (literally), the feeling of something coming in her, of taking something inside of her, god, it’s like nothing she’s ever fathomed before. Her body feels greedy for it, pulling it in deeper and deeper, and then it’s pressing in harder, she can feel Eve moving it in and out of her at a steady pace, angling it a certain way. Gradually, another bigger sensation starts to come over her, a feeling very deep inside her, something almost like a tickle inside her pussy, and she shifts just a bit and then Eve presses the dildo in and…

“FUCK!”

“Yeah, there it is,” Eve murmurs and pushes it in again, pressing that spot again, and fuck, fuck, fuck, Eve, Eve, Eve; it’s all she can think.

She’s got her feet under her and on the bed without her realizing so she can press the toy into her pussy deeper. Eve must get the hint because she switches hands, and the toy is being brought in and out of her quicker now, and Villanelle is pressing into it, her head thrown back, chasing that spot, that blinding spot.

The heel of Eve’s other hand is now pressed to Villanelle’s clit for her to grind up against, and her fingers are pressing towards where the tip of the toy is on the inside of her body. It’s pushing down that spot from the outside, pressing it against the toy, and Villanelle is grinding against it, against all of it, pushing and pushing, and it’s close, it’s close.

“Look at you, talking all I’m giving you. Taking it so good.”

Everything stops in this single moment and it’s all just…. FUCK. FUCK!

Villanelle’s orgasm is like a dam bursting, her body bowing off the bed, deep guttural moans tearing through her throat, and she’s never experienced anything her life like this, this feeling overwhelming her, like a nuclear bomb exploding, just blinding white light obliterating everything, blotting out everything expect the feel of the dick in her, and that hand on her pussy, and the scent of sharp spice being pulled into her nose over and over.

_______

Okay, [here's the link again to the spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Syo7cffZI8Qbab0GANRLb?si=u-DN1N4oTfGilSJJ6TRwXA) I made to go with this story considering last time I forgot to make it public. 


	9. Safe

When she comes back to herself, she feels like a puddle of goo. Little twitches are radiating out still from her soaked pussy, but besides that her whole body is floating far beyond her reach. The only thing that brings her back is the sound of water running.

When her eyes open, she blinks at the light at first, and the room looks fuzzy, and so… so vivid. She looks around at the horrible stucco ceiling, and is dazzled by the way the lamp light hits it, then the weave of Eve’s jumper next to her face is so intricate and fascinating and oh god, she’s fucking heat drunk.

“Okay, there, tipsy, let’s get you cleaned up.” Eve’s there suddenly, and she’s being gently rolled out of her nest.

“Noooooo,” Villanelle protests weakly, but once she moves and actualizes that she’s soaked in her slick, she agrees that, yes, she probably should just do what Eve says.

She’s so smart. Villanelle is so lucky.

“I’m glad you think so.” Eve laughs at her in the way one would laugh at a babbling child and oh god, she said that out loud. Whatever. Being embarrassed about that is Future Villanelle’s problem. Sucker.

The just-the-right-temperature water feels amazing on her skin. Villanelle rolls around in it, stretching out this way and that, letting out a long mmmmmm at the feeling. She hears Eve laughing and when she opens her eyes, she’s sitting there next to the tub, giving her this smile, this beautiful smile, and she looks almost….content.

Villanelle swims her way over to the side of the tub, bringing her arms up to criss cross on the edge and laying her head on them. She knows she must have the biggest, stupidest grin on her face, but she can’t help it. Everything feels so fucking _good_.

“What’s it like, being in a heat?” Eve asks, putting her elbow up on the ledge next to Villanelle and leaning her head on hand, looking down at her.

“In comparison to a rut?”

“Just, in general.”

“Hmm, It’s less physical, if that makes sense. Maybe because I’m the pillow princess this time and I can just lay there and be slowly and thoroughly fucked. By the way, good job on that so far.”

“Thanks.” Eve’s smile is so open and confident and makes Villanelle do a little wiggle that makes the water ripple. “A little more assured of my skills, are we?”

“Yes. Your ex was a stupid dumdum who should have never left you and your mouth.”

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“Oh, I’m sure that he knows how stupid he is.”

“He wasn’t….” Eve stops, and Villanelle can see some resolve forming. “You’re right, he was a dumdum.”

“You deserve better than him, Eve.” Villanelle smiles up at her, and honestly, what the fuck was she trying to accomplish here?

“Thanks.”

“Now say something nice about me.” Villanelle’s smile goes straight to shit eating, and Eve is laughing that sexy, throaty guffaw, head thrown back, her obscenely gorgeous curls bouncing.

“Umm, you’re still a badass even though you were born an Omega.”

“Oh, god.” Villanelle pushes away then, moving to sit back in the tub.

“I’m serious! Being strong and intimidating is something that any designation can be.”

“Not betas though, they suck.”

“Jeez, with the designationist language!”

“That wasn’t a nice thing. That was you trying to make me think of things I don’t want to think about right now.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Eve puts her hands up in surrender. Villanelle squints at her and then decides okay, fine, she will let her give her her scent again, and moves back to the side of the tub next to Eve.

“Okay, go ahead.”

“Your accent is very sexy.”

“Я рад, что ты так думаешь, босс.”

“See, that was hot. Also, you have an amazing set of tits.”

“I know, right?”

“I mean, they have the best shape, and your nipples, I mean my god, the colour makes my mouth water.”

Ordinarily, she could have volleyed that back with an even better comeback, but now, in this moment, where Eve looks so pretty in this light and smells even better and Villanelle’s life is currently some cosmic joke, she feels her cheeks flush and actually demurs at this. When she flits her eyes up, she sees that Eve is up on her knees, coming closer to her.

“Tell me, Omega, tell me how I make you feel.” God, the Alpha voice, fuck, she can feel a shudder running through her.

She says the first sensation that comes into her brain.

“So… _safe_.”

It hits her the same time it does Eve, the implication of what she’s saying. She sees Eve’s nostrils flare as she takes in an instinctive pull of Villanelle’s scent, her eyes closing. Villanelle feels her head listing to the side as she just as instinctively shows her neck to her in an act of welcome submission. Her heart is thundering in her chest as Eve comes closer to her and then presses her nose behind Villanelle’s ear and takes in a long pull of her scent.

“Fuck, you smell so good. Like warm honey.” She murmurs into Villanelle’s throat, and suddenly Villanelle is shuddering again, her nipples becoming sharp points where they’re brushing up against the side of the tub. “You taste even better though.”

“Do I?” It comes out breathy, and with a touch of neediness, and it’s nothing she’s ever heard come out of herself before. But the warm water sloshing over her skin, the coolness of the tub against her breasts, and the heat of Eve’s mouth just hovering over her pulse is making her want in a way she’s never experienced. All she wants is to know that, yes, this Alpha is pleased.

“Oh yes, so fucking good. Like fucking candy.”

“Oh my god,” Villanelle gasps.

“Fuck, I have to have it again…” Eve is single mindedly focused suddenly, reaching in to lift Villanelle out of the tub at the exact moment that Villanelle is moving to stand. They make it as far as Villanelle resting her ass on the edge, her feet on the ground, before Eve has her legs parted and her mouth on Villanelle’s pussy again.

“Eve! God, Eve!” Villanelle flails a bit, not sure where to reach, eventually leaning back and bracing her hands on the opposite ledge, letting her head hang all the way back until she can feel her hair dipping into the water.

Eve slides her hands under Villanelle’s ass and is lifting it up, lifting Villanelle’s already soaked with slick pussy up to her mouth, and god, Villanelle loves it, she loves it, and she realizes without her noticing that together, they’ve got her presenting.

The thought of this, of presenting her pussy to Eve, her pretty, delicious pussy for her Alpha to feast on, she’s gasping out again and again, yes, yes, yes, Alpha, Alpha….

Everything goes kinda blurry after she comes. She feels her body being moved like a rag doll, first gently sitting up again, then the blissful feeling of a soft towel wrapped around her shoulders. She feels zings flying all over her skin as she smiles all dopey at nothing in particular, her eyes half open as her easily malleable body goes wherever Eve moves her.

“Okay, let’s get you back to your nest.” She hears Eve says from very far away, and suddenly she’s being half led, half carried back to the bed, and god her Alpha is so STRONG!

Once she’s back in the nest though, it seems… not right. She fusses here and there with the blankets, not able to get things the way she wants it. Everything feels so… open. A quick shot of anxiety shoots through her as a reminder floats into her addled brain that she’s currently being hunted. She lets out a frightened little whine and looks up at Eve with wide eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. There’s a den room, do you want to try and bring your nest in there?”

Villanelle is nodding her head before Eve even finishes her sentence, because yes, Eve knows exactly what she needs, Eve wants to keep her safe in a small, easily defendable space.

There’s a door where she’d not noticed before, and Eve’s opening it so Villanelle can see a low ceiling, 6 by 6 foot room. Eve goes in and turns on these low, golden lights in there so she can see the walls painted a crimson and a brass nesting bed with gauzy golden curtains hanging from its canopy. Gold and red together usually makes Villanelle gag with the tackiness, but right now, the cozy, warm lit room looks like the Claridge’s at Christmas, warm and so inviting.

She rolls away from her nest, and before she can even turn around, Eve is there, gathering it up and carrying it over to the den room, settling it down on the bed. She turns back and holds out a hand.

“Come here. Come make yourself all cozy.” Villanelle grins and positively scampers over, taking a leap and jumping into the bed, making Eve laugh. “Just like that.”

Villanelle spends the next few minutes arranging everything to her liking. Once everything is just so, she snugs herself into the nest uncovered, still grinning as she opens her legs in an invitation. Eve laughs low, and closes the door behind her as she steps in the room.

“Oh, how could I refuse such an offer?” Eve says in a voice like a low rumble, and she’s crawling up the bed towards her on hands and knees, her eyes with a predator glee in them, and Villanelle starts to wiggle and squirm.

Everything is so dim and warm and soft, the blankets against her skin, Eve’s breath on her thighs, the golden light and the thick curtains making everything feel so enclosed. This is it. This is her whole world, just her nest in her den and her Alpha licking up all her slick like it’s the most delicious treat she’s ever tasted.

Eve goes down on her again for an exquisitely torturous long time. Villanelle can’t be sure how long, because she’s coming so much and so frequently she’s lost count. She can feel herself giving Eve more and more of her slick, and whenever she looks down, there’s Eve buried in her pussy, drinking it all up.

Eventually, though, it becomes not enough. Villanelle feels too bare, too exposed. Eve is far away, too far away, and she weakly tugs on her hair until she gets the message.

“Tell me what you need, Omega.”

“I need….” She knows what she wants, what she needs. But it’s a line to cross, and she doesn’t know if she has the right to ask it. “Please, will you kiss me?”

She’s never felt more vulnerable in her life, asking for this tenderness, this ultimate intimacy. If she had any doubt about Eve’s willingness to comply, she forgot it with the swiftness in which Eve answers.

“Sweet girl,” Eve whispers just before pressing her lips to Villanelle’s and she can taste herself on Eve’s mouth, on Eve’s tongue now running along her lower lip, and fuck, she was right, she’s fucking delicious.

Eve’s hand moves back to her pussy, and she’s pressing her fingers in this time, two, then three, moving in and out of her, then moving her hand to put a fourth in. But inside Villanelle feels empty, and she needs more. She needs Eve to fill her up. She starts to squirm on Eve’s fingers, thrusting into them again and again, feeling that need intensify, and she’s searching for something, she needs something, she needs it so fucking bad. She pulls back enough to huff out against Eve’s lips.

“I need…. I need you, I need all of you, Alpha. Please!” Her voice becomes desperate and begging mighty quick and even though she has no real idea what she’s expecting from Eve, she knows that her Alpha knows, her Alpha will give her what she needs.

She feels Eve’s hand moving, folding her fingers and thumb into a point and she’s pressing into Villanelle again, pressing in deeper and deeper. Her knuckles are breaching her, pressing in just a bit at a time, and yes, that breadth, that width, that’s what she needs, she needs to clamp down on something so big and full inside her. Her instincts are telling her to hold it tight, her Omega brain screaming to be made full, whether from a fat dick or a warm fist, she doesn’t care.

Right before Eve presses all the way in though, Villanelle’s body is moving. Without any kind of preconceived notion, she’s pulling off it and moving, turning, and a whole strange new part of her brain is saying, move, show her, show your Alpha, give yourself to her. She pulls her knees up under her so her ass is up, and her shoulders are pressed to the bed, and she feels obscene, open, ready. She’s presenting in the most base, animalistic way, wiggling her pussy even, and she’s so beyond anything, she doesn’t even have it in her to be embarrassed.

“Alpha, please. Alpha, please, Alpha….” Suddenly her eyes are wet, and she feels more open than she ever has, everything laid out in front of someone, in front of Eve. She’s never felt this safe, this trusting before, and as she looks back over her shoulder, she sees Eve looking back at her with what has to be awe, and yes, it’s there, there’s lust there, and she can scent it now too, the sharpness of the spice in Eve’s scent overcoming hers, embedding itself into everything, every inch of Villanelle’s body. Eve desires her too, her Alpha wants her, thank god, thank god, thank god…

Suddenly Eve is there, lunging forward and putting a hand on the back of Villanelle’s neck, pressing her to the bed, and Villanelle keens at it, gleeful in the cuffing. Eve’s in her again, her fingers, then her knuckles pushing into her pussy, pressing in and out in short thrusts, and Villanelle wants to grind back against it, but the hand on her neck has her frozen there, and all she can do is take it, take in the feeling of Eve’s knuckles in her, again the girth she needs. She’s huffing out little pained mews, whimpering with the overstimulation of this, the edge of pain feeling so good, and she’s so close, god, she’s so close…

“Come on, come for me, princess.”

Something about that princess breaks Villanelle, and she’s coming harder than she’s ever come in her life, beyond caring as she screams and screams and finally she can buck against the hand in her, claw at the bed under her, arch her back up and then down like a cat. Somewhere on the outside of this, she feels Eve’s hand stroking her sides like a bucking horse, cooing at her, and when Villanelle takes in a deep breath, all she can smell is spicy sweet, sharp with arousal.

A million years later, after she’s very tenderly rolled onto her side, she feels blankets being pulled up against her, and the soft press of something to her forehead, like lips whispering there. When the warmth starts to pull away, she lets out a murmur of unhappiness.

“Okay, princess, okay. I’ll stay.”

She’s spooned up from behind then, Eve’s warmth pressed to her, and her contentment is so overwhelming, she’s purring, actually purring, like the contented Omega she is. It’s the answering rumble reverberating from Eve’s chest into her back, though, that makes her finally drift off into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Я рад, что ты так думаешь, босс - Glad you think so, boss
> 
> Heat drunk - I decided to have Villanelle be so overwhelmed with properly fucked Omega hormones that they make her seem almost drunk, kind of similar to subspace. 
> 
> Presenting - The idea of an Omega's base instinct to submit manifesting in the impulse to offer her pussy up to be fucked.
> 
> Den/Den Room - Playing off the animalistic nature of ABO, a den is an enclosed space, small and easy for the Alpha to defend. 
> 
> Fisting - This is more for those experienced in the ABO world - I originally planned for their to be knotting in this universe, but decided the concept of being tied wouldn't work in the context of this scene and to forgo it.
> 
> Purring/Rumbling - Again, with the animalistic thing, I love the trope in ABO of a satisfied Omega purring and a pleased Alpha rumbling in their chest.


	10. Feeling Are Gross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've had to increase the chapter count as I just finished chapter 14 this week and the story isn't finished yet. I'm estimating another 3 chapters as of now, but it could increase. Also have a plan for a part two. Much to look forward to!

Villanelle is the definition of a hot mess when she wakes up the next morning? Night? There’s no windows in her den room, making the passage of time totally undeterminable. All she knows is that her pussy is such a fucked out mess and her body feels like she just ran a marathon uphill both ways, and by the feel of it, her hair is twisted up into the biggest sex knot she’s ever had in her life. She figures that’s the price you pay for being the bottom.

She flings back a hand and feels nothing but blankets behind her. Her heart seizes in what only can be described as panic and she sits bolt upright. Her eyes search the darkness for Eve with absolute desperation, landing eventually on a note laying on the bed next to her. In simple script it says ‘Out getting breakfast. Be back soon. DON’T OPEN THE DOOR! - Eve.’ Villanelle flops back on the bed with a deep sigh, the rush of adrenaline serving to wake her up fully.

Images of the last… however many hours start to float up into her slowly clearing brain. Remembering all the hot sex makes her simultaneously flush with embarrassment, arousal, and utter fucking confusion. The feeling of having Eve push into her, first with the toy and then with her hand, fuck, just the thought of it makes everything in her want to start purring again. And shit, Eve ended up being a good little pussy eater. I mean, she had Villanelle to help her, so obviously that made her better….

But it was more than that. There was something else new that she’d experienced. The care Eve had given her, the memory of her kiss, of the tenderness in it, the way she felt her fingers stroking up and down Villanelle’s arm as she drifted off to sleep. The intimacy of it all made something deep inside her… flutter. With… something. Feelings? Oh god not feelings. Please, no feelings.

Of course feelings!! She was a fucking Omega now!! And all Omegas did was _feel things_. Gooey, sappy things. Villanelle had thoroughly and successfully avoided feeling anything but satisfaction and smugness for most of her life now. Every other emotion was stupid. What good was this softness inside her. What good was it that the very idea of Eve kissing her again made her traitorous heart squeeze in want.

But then she remembered that one feeling, that new one, that one she hadn’t felt in years and years, not since she was a very little girl. Eve curled up behind her, arms around her, and all Villanelle felt was safe. Enclosed. Completely and utterly taken care of. Without her even realizing it, Eve had made her cede control, had taken over, and thoroughly dominated her.

The most shocking thing was how much Villanelle _liked it_.

Ugh. Gross. Whatever. Where’s Eve anyways? She’s hungry, god damn it.

If she can’t eat right now, she better do something about her post heat stink. The whole room is permeated in it, the smell of a very aroused and very satisfied Omega. She would know what that smelled like, after all the happy customers she’d had over the years.

She opens the door to the den room and blinks at the bright sun coming in through the flung open windows, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. Apparently Eve thought it a bad idea for her to answer the door but okay for anyone who decides to look up at the third floor of this hotel to see her with no clothes on. Villanelle can’t blame her for that, though. She does look SPECTACULAR naked. I mean, her ass alone…

This sweet little fuck pad has a two person shower, but honestly, that slutty looking red tub is calling her name. She turns on the tap to Khalessi level hot (yes she watches Game of Thrones, Cersei is the shit.) As the tub fills, Villanelle starts to unconsciously hum a little tune, bopping her head a bit, and then doing what passes for dancing for her. It’s more of a shuffle and a twitch, hence why she never ever dances in front of anyone, including the vice president of El Salvador who told her he was in love with her and that if she danced with him he’d buy her as many diamonds as she wanted. She stole all his diamonds after she hung him from his shower rod anyways.

It takes the whole time of the tub filling before she realizes that, shit, she’s in a really, really good mood. Like, post kill level good mood. She might even be… happy? Is this happy? Feeling all kind of fluttery and like if she started to talk right now, she might not be able to stop? It’s so surprising, so… nice, that she doesn’t try and fight it.

She’s already washed and conditioned her hair and is currently floating in the warm lull of the water when she hears the lock in the door turn. Tensing for just a moment, her fight or flight response kicking in, she waits until the door swings open, and there’s Eve, carrying two paper bags and a tray with two coffees. The sight of the Alpha, her Alpha, bringing her food, providing for her makes everything from her chest to her pussy thrum.

Eve bustles in, not seeing her, so Villanelle leans forward to cross her arms on the edge and rest her chin there like she had the night before, smiling without even realizing it. When Eve finally turns around and sees her she lets out a very un-Alpha like squeak and spins her back towards her.

“Oh shit, sorry.”

“Eve, are you kidding me? You were wrist deep inside me last night, and you’re worried about my modesty?”

Eve turns slowly, and purposely still avoids looking at her as she goes over to the nightstand to put down the bags and coffees. Villanelle can see that her cheeks are flushed red, and honestly, that’s so fucking adorable, and she knows her own smile is probably defcon level dorky, but it’s okay. She can trust Eve.

“I got you an Egg McMuffin and a coffee.” She mumbles, still not looking at Villanelle. “I packed up everything and gassed up the car, so if you’re done, we better hit the road.”

“If everything’s packed, then what am I to wear?” Villanelle says in a coy tone, but there’s no reaction from Eve, just her opening the bags and pulling out the food.

“I left you something to wear. It’s hanging up in the bathroom. I’ve got some phone calls to make, so I’ll be down in the car waiting when you’re ready.” She grabs one of the McMuffins for herself, and a coffee, and turns back towards the door.

This was not what Villanelle was expecting, this distance. She figures Eve must be embarrassed, which is such stupid puritanical American nonsense. Her mouth is open to tell Eve that she doesn’t need to be ashamed and how happy she’s made her when Eve speaks again.

“Listen, if it’s just the same to you, I’d rather that no one in MI6 found out about yesterday. I don’t want to lose my job just because you needed someone to fuck you through a heat.”

A very long sharp knife must be driving itself into Villanelle’s chest because that’s exactly what these words feel like. She unconsciously curls in on herself, wrapping her arms around her bare chest, scared now at being so vulnerable.

Of course. Of course. It was ridiculous for her to ever believe that she would be safe. That she could trust someone.

“Believe me, I don’t want anyone to know either.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Villanelle doubles down. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate you getting me those Alpha hormones as soon as possible.”

This catches Eve, bringing her eyes to Villanelle’s finally.

“Really? I thought maybe you’d…”

“Please, Eve, you weren’t that good.”

It’s a bold faced lie, but Villanelle has to get some of her power back. Dangling out on the ledge waiting for Eve to reach out to her was a stupid fucking risk and she wouldn’t take it again.

They silently regard each other for one moment, two, three, both seemingly waiting for the other to break. It’s Eve who eventually looks away, and this time, having the upper hand is the exact opposite thing that Villanelle wants.

“I’ll be in the car” is all Eve responds with, and she’s out of the room before Villanelle can say anything else.

The water is now cold around her, and she’s shivering, listening to the echo of the door closing, alone again. Everything seems to distill itself down to this single moment, to the sharp ache of refusal and seeming abandonment, something so painfully familiar to her. Big fat tears roll down her cheeks and drop into the water, the ache overcoming her before she can manage to contain it.

Goddammit. God fucking damn it. Fuck all of this. Fuck Eve and fuck MI6 and fuck Konstantin and fuck the Twelve and fuck this stupid room that she now realizes has no lingering scent of her heat because Eve had opened the windows and threw it away, this beautiful scent that she brought out of Villanelle.

By the time she gets in the car, Villanelle has decided to completely ignore her stupid hopes, her aching heart, her still sore pussy and Eve, all in that order. She plops down her seat, puts her seat belt on, and promptly turns her whole body towards the side window. A solid minute goes by in tense silence, and then the engine’s being turned over and the car is backing out of the parking lot.

The next six hours are nothing but the loudest silence ever. They pull over once, in which Eve gets out of the car, and then gets back in ten minutes later smelling like cigarette smoke. Villanelle focuses on how disgusting she smells now as a way to convince herself that she’s not attracted to Eve at all anymore. It works up until they get to the next safe house, and Eve, after dumping the suitcases in the living room, disappears into the bathroom without a word.

This safe house is at least clean, and fairly modern. It’s on the side of a hill, with a trailer park at the bottom (ew) and then a rocky beach and a swirling ocean. Seeing the water focuses her, and for a moment, she’s just staring at the waves, only thinking about them, about the colour of the water, a dark, turbulent blue.

This place is nice and all, but honestly, Villanelle is going to need that manor house soon. Enduring the humiliation of her rejected vulnerability will go a lot easier if she’s in a place that has antique floorboards and original stained glass windows.

Eve comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed, with her damp hair curled up into a severe, hard bun at the top of her head. All it takes is for Villanelle to see her denying her the sight of her full bouncy head of curls for her to feel that sting again.

“I’m going out to get groceries. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Okay, can you-” But Eve is out the door before she can finish.

She comes back exactly an hour later, struggling with the grocery bags and smelling faintly like cigarette smoke and heavily like breath mints. The only reason Villanelle gets up to follow her is because she hasn’t eaten anything since the night before because Eve is a shitty bodyguard who didn’t make sure she had food.

“I got steaks.” Eve says, pulling them out of the bags, along with some brussel sprouts, some giant potatoes (ugh, British people and their eating potatoes and not drinking them.) She’s just starting to pull out some pans when something pushes Villanelle forward, making her grab onto Eve’s hand where it’s holding the frying pan.

“Let me. I mean, you bought all this food. I should cook it for you.”

Eve is so close, and finally looking her in the eyes, and she can feel her hand under hers, warm and real. She’s brought this food for her, to feed her, to take care of her, right? That has to mean something, her steadily increasing heart beat tells her. There’s a whiff then of citrus, and god, yes, yes, she wants this, this is right.

“Go sit down.” Villanelle says in a quiet voice, and Eve, almost in a trance, nods, and then moves back to the table.

The next half hour of her life is fucking surreal. She’s broiling the steaks and roasting the potatoes and veggies, literally bare foot and smiling in the kitchen. All she can feel inside is a sense of fulfillment, of purpose, at the idea of feeding her Alpha, with the food she’d been provided with. Whenever she sneaks a look over at Eve, she catches her staring at her, both of them quickly looking away. All the hormones must be making her crazy, because this is the most content she’s been in years.

Of course it can’t last. When the steak starts to smoke on the pan she remembers that, oh yeah, she’s a shitty cook who has literally burned water before. She panics when she realizes that the steaks need to be taken off the heat immediately and just dumps them on the counter, throwing the smoking pan in the sink. The smell of burning doesn’t dissipate then, however, and she realizes that it’s actually coming from the oven. She flings the door open and a cloud of smoke billows out, setting off the smoke alarm.

What follows is three minutes of her and Eve flapping dish towels at the screaming alarm while their dinner lays desiccated on the stove on the now smoldering baking sheet. Once the stupid thing is silent, it all hits Villanelle, and she takes in her giant failure of an attempt to cook for her Alpha.

She slumps down into a kitchen chair, her shoulders sloped with dejection. Being an Omega is hard and exhausting and she sucks at it. Maybe if she was better at it, the Alpha whose scent is the only thing making her feel better right now would be actually willing to engage with her, instead of skirting around her like she’s a nuclear bomb that could go off at any second.

She’s utterly shocked when she feels fingers brush her cheek and then lifting her chin up. Her eyes flutter up to meet Eve’s, standing in front of her and giving her an inscrutable look. Villanelle takes in a deep breath and holds it, hoping, hoping, hoping….

“I…” Eve starts and then stutters, and she can see the exact moment the doors to her eyes shutter close, and she physically takes a step back from Villanelle. “Let’s order pizza.”

Villanelle is growling with frustration and anger before she even realizes how pissed off she is all of the sudden. Fucking Eve!! Why she’d have to find the SHITTIEST Alpha in this whole stupid, annoying country?!?!

“YOU SUCK AT THIS, EVE!!” She screams, and runs to the nearest bedroom, slamming the door so hard the windows shake. She paces around the room like a caged tiger, her fists curling up in anger, her eyes filling with flames, her breath coming out in snarls.

How DARE Eve reject her like this!!! How dare she refuse her!!! Even as a weepy, messy Omega, Villanelle was by FAR the best piece of ass Eve could ever hope to have. And maybe, just maybe if she didn’t have such a stick up her ass, she could have had the transcendent experience of Villanelle fucking her brains out too, because apparently Eve was like, obsessed with penetrative sex.

Which, whatever. Yeah, it felt like she was a lightbulb lighting up so bright that it was about to explode when she had that toy pressed to her G-spot. But, what if it was her? What if she was the one doing the fucking? The idea of strapping on a huge cock and fucking Eve with it, just to make her feel as weak and wanting as she had been was gaining huge appeal.

God, she would find the biggest one, go down on Eve and make her come again and again, and then when she was all wet and messy, she would thrust up into her and make her positively BOUNCE on her dick, all the while laughing at how wanton Eve would be. She would rub all of her aroused scent all over Eve as she did it, as Eve screamed out in pleasure under her, and then she would know what it was like.

This visual definitely did something for her rage, and yeah it was making her aroused. But in her mind, the visual kept slipping. Instead, she kept seeing Eve’s face above hers as Villanelle felt Eve’s fingers pressing into her body, flicking her clit, kissing her over and over, the taste of Villanelle’s slick on her lips.

Jesus fuck, what was wrong with her now?! How could both of these things do it for her? Oh, god, was she VERS?! What had Eve DONE to her?!

So she wanted Villanelle to be a fucking leaking pool of slick for her, while she did nothing in response? While she pushed her away? Fine. FINE. Let her take in all that she was rejecting.

Villanelle slipped a hand under the waistband of her pants and underwear, finding herself already so wet. She leaned her head back and started to rapidly and roughly rub her fingers over her slick clit, getting consistently rougher with herself. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and thought of all the things Eve had done to her body, thought of how wet she had made her, of the look on Eve’s face while she feasted on her slick, on the feel of Eve’s hand inside her. As she got more and more heated up, she concentrated on pushing out her scent, her arousal mixing with the smell of her slick, and trying to will it through the gap under the door, out for Eve to take in, to smell what she was missing.

The scent wasn’t enough though. Villanelle decided to full on moan and huff out in the loudest, most annoying fashion, so Eve would hear her, hear the sound of her straining to come, pushing and pushing and pushing, fuck, why wasn’t this enough, fuck, it’s not enough, her own hand, fuck if Eve would just open the door, and put her mouth on her and flick and suck, and Villanelle could bury her hands in her curls and just ride her face until she came and came and fuck there finally, she’s coming, but it’s not enough, not enough, not enough.

______

Well, happy holidays, folks. If you'd like to do something traditional while also being able to smell Eve's scent, why not try [this recipe for pomander oranges.](https://www.almanac.com/content/how-make-pomander-balls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Providing - An instinctual desire from an Alpha to bring food, blankets, etc to their Omega, a la the Alpha returning from the hunt with food. The Omega's instinctual response is to take these things and make a cozy den, home or nest out of them, for themselves and their Alpha.


	11. Home Sweet Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - the word f** appears in this chapter.

About an hour later, there’s a tentative knock on the door. Villanelle, now curled up on her side in bed, feeling unsatisfied and empty in a way she’s never allowed herself to feel before, just curls up tighter. It comes again.

“The pizza’s here.” Eve’s voice is soft, even through the door.

Wonderful. She can’t wait to see what Scotland’s version of pizza must be. Covered in haggis and full of red pubes probably.

“I got the one with Canadian bacon and pepperoni.”

The thought of all that greasy meat nestled in some equally greasy cheese makes her stomach roar to life.

Fine. She’ll eat this stupid pizza. But only because she’s literally starving. And not because Eve is providing for her.

She gets up and flings open the door, startling Eve.

“Oh, hi.” Eve says, caught.

“Where’s the food?”

“Over here.” Eve gestures to the living room, and Villanelle brushes past her without another word.

Finding a giant pizza box on the coffee table, she flings it open and proceeds to pull out four slices, stacking them on top of each other, holding them all with one hand, and then grabbing a bunch of napkins with the other. She stalks over to the patio door, unlocking it and flinging it open so hard it almost goes off its track, then goes out onto the pathetic little balcony, plopping down on a plastic lawn chair.

She’s already mowed through two pieces when she hears Eve walk out onto the balcony behind her.

“Is it good?”

“Hmm,” is all she replies with, starting in on her third piece.

Eve comes and sits in a chair a noticeable distance away. Villanelle’s heart breaks a little, at Eve not wanting to even sit close to her. She swallows down her hurt and does the only thing that feels familiar. She gets annoyed.

“Are we ever ACTUALLY going to get to my new house? Or is this stupid road trip just an excuse to make me as miserable as fucking possible? Because if that’s the goal, you can stop now. You’ve achieved it.”

“We’ve been cleared to leave tomorrow morning for your new place.”

“Good. Finally. Then you can tottle on back to London and we can be done with each other.”

“Uh, not really.” Eve says. “Villanelle, I’m still in charge of your protection, even at your new permanent location.”

“What are you trying to say? That you’re going to be STAYING with me?”

“Well, obviously. You’ve not been cleared yet to be left unattended.”

“UNATTENDED?! What am I, a toddler?! Just because I’m currently reverted to an Omega doesn’t mean I still can’t take someone out, Eve.” She narrows her eyes at her. “Try me and find out.”

“I have every assurance of your ability to fillet someone who would come for you. But, as you’ve seen, it’s not going to be just one person. Next time, it’s probably not even going to be two people. They know they’re going to need a whole team to bring you in, even if they think you’re alone. I’m here to help lessen their advantage.”

“Well maybe when they come, I’ll just go with them. Honestly, free Alpha hormones and my place in Paris is seeming like a much better option.”

“And how do you think that would go? Asking to go back when you’ve most likely gotten one of their handlers captured?”

“What do you mean, most likely? Haven’t you bunch of incompetent tea guzzlers been able to find Konstantin? Even after I basically took you by the hand and lead you right to his front door?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss…”

“Save it, Eve, you’ve already shown your hand on that one.” She sneers at Eve. “God, you’re all so pathetic.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t imprisoned the only person in the world who cares about you. I’ll be sure to ask everyone to try harder.” Eve snarks back.

The words hit Villanelle so unexpectedly hard, that she isn’t able to snap her head away before she’s sure it flickers across her face. It’s not the fact that obviously Konstantin doesn’t really care about her, it’s that apparently Eve also doesn’t is like a stab in the heart.

“Villanelle-” Eve starts but stops as soon as Villanelle looks back, eyes blazing.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner and scintillating conversation. Good night.” With that she’s up and back in the bedroom without looking back.

They’re in the car the next morning early and in complete silence again. Eve pulls into the MacDonald’s drive through and they order yet more disgusting, greasy food that’s making Villanelle get a zit on her chin.

After an hour of staring blankly at the scenery rushing by while seething, and picking apart every single thing she can remember from their time in the heat room (which, admittedly is fuzzy at times because of all the hormones in her system at the time), something occurs to Villanelle.

“Why didn’t you taste them?”

“What?”

“My nipples. You said that they made your mouth water, but you never touched them, not at all.”

“Because…. Because that wasn’t what that all was about.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I was there for you, not for me.”

“So, that all did nothing for you? That’s what you’re saying?”

“I wouldn’t…. I was keeping a professional distance….”

“A professional distance? Really? What about you having to taste my slick? Telling me how…”

She can’t say any of it, any of the things that Eve said to her that made her heart squeeze with tenderness and desire, not here, in this acrid wasteland of the tension between them.

“Just...” Eve looks uncomfortable, and her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “I was just… I know that hearing all that kind of stuff I was saying can help an Omega during a heat.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I was married for 10 years, Villanelle, and I helped my husband through all of his heats. I know the things that can soothe an Omega, and make them feel, you know…”

 _Safe_ is what she’s going to say, Villanelle knows it. Apparently, though, she’s going to be granted the small mercy of not having to hear that world she whispered to her in such a trusting place thrown back at her in this horrible moment.

Wow. Lucky Villanelle. What a fucking peach Eve was.

“I was and still am here with you because I have been hired to do a job, to protect you. That’s it.”

This stops something in Villanelle. This, this can’t be right. Villanelle knew, she knew what she saw, what she scented. Why was she trying to deny it?

“That’s a lie.” Villanelle said in a sharp tone, one that she saw instantly get Eve’s back up.

“It is not. I provided a service, consensually mind you, to keep you, my charge, safe and healthy.”

“Provided a service?! Like you’re the cable man?”

“I mean, I did bring you hours of entertainment.” Eve’s weak joke lands flat.

Villanelle sits there for a long moment, letting this reality set in. Either she’s right, and Eve was into it and is now so ashamed of ever wanting her that she’s denying it, or that she really was just doing her duty. Both options bite into her like a thousand bee stings.

“How much longer until we get there?”

“Villanelle…” She turns to Eve then, summoning up her most set, Alpha face.

“How much longer?”

Eve stops at this, considering.

“Half hour tops.”

“Good.”

They drive through what can only loosely be described as a village, a collection of a post office/grocer, a pub with an upstairs inn, a butcher’s shop, something called the Teaspoon Emporium, and a series of row houses that look like they were built back when God was a boy. Every person they pass waves and smiles at them, to which Eve smiles back and Villanelle looks at like they’ve just cut one in front of her.

“Appearing friendly might be a service to you. These are your new neighbours.” Eve says.

“We’re close?” This finally perks her up a bit.

“Apparently we turn….” Eve stops the car at what might be a four way stop, if you count the dirt path crossing the road an actual street. “I guess here?”

Eve turns left, and they jostle and bump down an increasingly questionable definition of a road, up a bumpy hill that the piece of shit tin can they’re in barely makes it up. At the top, though, she finally sees it.

There, in the distance, right on the top of what has to be a very steep cliff, judging by the complete drop off in front of it, is a beautiful, two store stone manor, with three by four square paned windows trimmed in white, and a half turret on the front side. It looks more Pride and Prejudice than Wuthering Heights here in front of her than it did in the picture Carolyn showed her what seems like a thousand years ago in that miserable hospital in Russia. Honestly, Villanelle is okay with that. Emily Bronte was a whiny Omega, but Jane Austen was all Alpha. Now she can’t help but think of getting herself an Omega Miss Darcy to complete the aesthetic.

Finally. FINALLY something’s about to go right for her.

The car ends up getting stuck in a low lying patch of mud, and they have to abandon it to walk the last 300 meters. Villanelle takes this opportunity to walk in the biggest strides her long legs can take, leaving the little mean hobbit behind. She takes in deep inhalations of the air, smelling the sea, the heather, the damp. The bite of the cold in the wind whipping past her cheeks reminds her of Russia, and rather than making her feel trapped in bad memories, it awakens something in her. It gives this place a sense of familiarity, which is something her life is severely lacking in right now.

She gets to the front door, a heavy iron door that opens when she pushes it. This makes her immediately suspicious, and with her eyes alert, she enters the house.

It’s dark inside, so dark that at first she can’t see anything. There’s no window in the entrance hall, apparently, so she blindly walks towards a light at the end, coming through a door left ajar. Taking a deep breath, she pushes it the rest of the way and goes into what can only be described as a shithole.

This room might have been nice at some point, but now, what it is is apparently the local empty house that teenagers go to party and, by the stink of the hormones permeating the air, have sex in. There’s a mattress on the floor with some kind of brown stain in the middle, surrounded by beer cans, broken whiskey bottles, and yup, those are definitely used condoms stuffed into red solo cups. Someone has spray painted JAYDEN IS A FAG on the wall, and what was probably an antique tapestry of a fawn now has a giant cartoon dick on it. Inexplicably, there is a life-size cutout of Justin Bieber in the corner, wearing a stained Santa hat with a talk bubble on his chest that says “I suck dick for coke.”

“What the actual fuck is this?” She seethes.

“Well, by the looks of all the dicks, I guess this is the local gay bar.” Eve’s behind her now, and when Villanelle looks over her shoulder, she sees her chuckling to herself. “I wonder if Justin Bieber actually did suck dick for coke.”

The sight of Eve, cracking jokes and smiling, is what makes Villanelle snap.

“FUCK YOU, EVE! FUCK YOU AND FUCK MI6 AND FUCK CAROYN MARTENS AND FUCK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THE FUCKHEAD TEENAGE ALPHAS WHO HAVE BEEN KNOCKING UP CROOKED TOOTHED NEWLY PRESENTED OMEGAS IN WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY REWARD FOR PUTTING UP WITH ALL THE SHIT I’VE BEEN DEALING WITH SINCE THIS WHOLE STUPID THING STARTED!”

She goes full on berserker rage then, because yes, truly and one hundred percent fuck EVERYTHING and EVERYONE, she’s fucking DONE with all of this, and she’s kicking the bottles across the room and tearing down the tapestry and shoving the rotting bookshelf in the corner over. That rage, that unstoppable fiery anger, it’s so sharp, so all encompassing, and fuck, it is so strange and so GOOD to feel something, to feel anything this much. After years of being bored and numb, then the fragileness of the trust and tenderness with Eve, to have red hot fire burning through every inch of her body feels like she’s finally alive.

This is it. It’s time for her to flip this shitty script. She won’t take this anymore. She refuses.

Stalking up to Eve, she shoves her, hard, until her back smacks against the wall. With the breath knocked out of her, Villanelle easily reaches into Eve’s side holster and pulls out her gun, stepping back to raise it, aiming it directly between Eve’s eyes. Once she has her pinned, she grabs the car keys out of Eve’s hand.

“This is over. I’m getting the fuck out of here. I never want to see you, or any other pathetic piece of shit from MI6 again.”

“Look, Villanelle…” Eve has her hands up in a placating gesture which honestly just pisses Villanelle off even more. “Let’s just go back to the village, have some dinner…”

“No, Eve, I’m in charge now, and I say…”

Before she can finish though, Eve’s arm is striking her wrist, hard, causing her to drop the gun, but when Eve bends down to get it, Villanelle reacts in the only way she knows how, the way she was trained to. She brings her knee up and hits Eve solid under her chin, snapping her head back and sending her reeling. Using this moment of distraction to her advantage, she reaches down and grabs the gun, putting it in the waistband of her pants, and then going towards the door.

She’s at the front door when she’s yanked back by her hair, and WHAT THE FUCK, EVE? Her head is pulled all the way back, making her stumble into Eve behind her.

“You’re staying right where you are until you calm down.” Eve hisses into her ear.

“FUCK. YOU.”

Villanelle brings her foot up and slams the heel of her three thousand dollar Balmain boot down on top of Eve’s. She’s rewarded with the satisfying sound of Eve yowling in pain, and her hair is released and she’s off again, stalking towards the car.

She’s all the way to the giant puddle that the car is lodged in when she’s suddenly tackled from behind, landing face first in the mud, her mouth full of it. This is it. This is the final indignity. Doesn’t Eve, doesn’t MI6 KNOW who she is? She’s the fucking ALPHA KILLER. She haunts people’s nightmares. She destroys families, lives. Everyone who encounters her ends up dead at her feet. She wears clothes that cost what some flunky at MI6 makes in a year, including the little bitch who’s currently pinning her legs down.

Growling in pure Alphaesque rage, she kicks back until she connects with something, again and again until finally the weight is off her. She rolls onto her back, lifting the mud caked gun up and whips around to see Eve doubled over in pain. Her heart lurches at this for just a moment, and she wavers, her hand not able to raise the gun again.

Eventually, Eve raises her face and Villanelle sees actual tears trailing through the mud on her cheeks.

“Please, just… If you go, I won’t… If you go…” Eve is heaving out between pained breaths. “If something happens to you, I won’t ever forgive myself.”

There’s something in Eve’s eyes, something naked and afraid, that makes all the fight drain out of her like water out of a cracked glass. Suddenly she’s done, she’s just fucking done.

“Eve… I can’t handle this, I can’t…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Eve’s crawling on her knees towards her, and takes the gun out of her unresisting hand. “We can fix this. We can.”

In this moment, when all fucking hope is lost and there’s nothing but bullshit on the horizon, the face of the Alpha who made her feel safe and cared for, who called her princess, is the thing that brings her back.

“Make this better, Eve.” Villanelle finds herself saying, actualizing the tears on her own cheeks now. “Please.”

“I will, I will.” Eve reaches out and pulls Villanelle to her, and she’s back in her arms, being held and soothed, tucking her face into Eve’s neck and taking in little secret inhalations of her scent and, even though it’s a lie, this safety, she’ll take it.

_____ 

[Inspiration for Villanelle's house.](https://countrylife.onthemarket.com/details/9140322/)


	12. Sunday Roast

She’s standing on the edge of the cliff, arms wrapped around herself, staring down into the swirling abyss of the loch below, thinking about a Bjork song, about numbness, about burning rage and fuzzy tenderness and Eve’s spicy scent. Then she’s thinking about her brand new Dior embroidered pants that are currently caked with Scottish mud, and the fact that her new home is a dump and things start to feel real again.

She hears Eve’s footsteps behind her even over the sound of the waves below because apparently, MI6 doesn’t teach its operatives the importance of being covert. Or maybe Eve is aware of how dangerous it can be to sneak up on someone with Villanelle’s skill set and history.

“I got Carolyn to agree to an expense account in the form of a black American Express card. Don’t ask what I threatened her with in order to get it. Let’s just say I’m glad I had the piece of information about her involvement in a certain operation that went tits up in Switzerland last year. I was saving it for when I really needed something, so it definitely came in handy.”

Villanelle turns around then, facing her.

“And the threat of losing a CI as important as me, that did nothing?”

Eve is quiet in response to that, making Villanelle snort softly and shake her head.

“You were right, Eve. Carolyn really doesn't give a shit about whether I stay alive. She got what MI6 wanted from me already, and now I’m a liability.”

“Well, I care about you staying alive. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you stay so.”

“Everything?” It comes out soft, shaky with hope, before Villanelle can stop herself. They lock eyes for a long moment, and Villanelle swears she sees a struggle in Eve’s, but then it’s gone, and Eve’s looking away.

“It’s not all bad news, this place.” She’s turning back towards the house, and Villanelle walks alongside her. “She said that she wasn’t lying about it being recently renovated. Apparently the roof, the plumbing, all the electric, central heating, the inside plastering, all the original wood floors and paneling was updated, refinished, installed, all that, about three years ago. The building’s in great shape, it’s just been sitting empty since then. And you know kids, they always need somewhere to… ”

“To fuck in? Yes, I surmised that by the stink.”

“It just needs to be aired out.”

“It needs to be de-scented, steam cleaned, power blasted… ”

“Well, guess what, you have the money to do all those things.” Eve stops in front of the house. “It’s a beautiful blank canvas for you to make into whatever you want. Into your dream home.”

Villanelle looks skeptically up at the imposing house, now made slightly brighter with the golden setting Scottish sun shining on it.

“You can’t beat the location, and the place has amazing bones. It just needs your zhuzz on it. Come on, it’s the perfect project for you right now. It’s a distraction, something to focus on.”

She knows Eve is right, and already she has ideas forming in her mind of things that she could try, but she’s going to be damned if she let’s Eve know that. At this point, she needs to win back all the points she can, even if her heart isn’t as in it as before.

“Whatever. But I’m not staying in that shit hole until I know that every inch of it has been de-spunked and sanitized.”

“There’s an inn above the pub in the village that we passed. Let’s go get some rooms there to stay for the next few days while we get everything arranged. Plus, I need some dinner, stat.”

In terms of a plan, it’s a pretty good one. Plus, at this point, she’s ready to just let Eve take the reins on this shitty day.

In a stroke of some kind of heaven sent luck, they’re able to get the car out of the mud with relative ease, and then they’re bouncing their way back into the village. On the way, Eve has her read a file about what her new identity is, and well, at least Carolyn followed through on the Mamont Vodka heiress thing. Olga Ivanov, the house bought for her by her father in an attempt to get her settled far away from the temptations of the Moscow party scene. (The Moscow party scene? What was that exactly, vodka slammers in front of Stalin’s tomb, then drunk selfies by the Kremlin?) And the ludicrous addition of Eve as Mary White, the personal assistant hired by her father to make sure she was toeing the line.

Whatever, it didn’t matter. She didn’t plan on getting chummy with anyone within a 200 mile radius, thanks. She was going to live in her beautiful palatial manor house, sleeping on 800 thread count Eygptian cotton sheets, buy a big deer rifle and do some hunting on her new acreage. Honestly, she hadn’t thought beyond that. Eventually Eve would leave, and then she could do whatever the hell she wanted. She had money stashed in different places, so if (and when) she got bored, she would slip out of MI6’s view and go do something else. She’d be an Alpha, strong and bold again, and her life would be her own for the first time ever. And if the Twelve came for her, well, they were welcome to die trying.

When they park the car and get out, Villanelle looks down at her mud caked clothes, then over at Eve’s and continues to not give a single, solitary fuck about what anyone thinks about them, even when they get into the pub and every set of eyes swings over to them. Considering how ugly all their clothes are, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about it.

Eve walks up to the barman like she’s wearing a thousand dollar suit and not rags from Primark soaked in dirt, smiling a confident Alpha smile, and damn if that doesn’t do something for Villanelle.

“Any chance you have room in your inn for a couple of very tired, very dirty travellers?” She asks the burly, red cheeked man who gives them both the once over, then grins back.

“Americans, huh? You get separated from your tour group?”

“Oh no, we’re just…” Suddenly, Villanelle can’t stand to let these people know the latest in her false identities. She knows she has to be careful, and she knows that they can never know who the world thinks she is, but maybe, just maybe, the closely guarded truth of her is so unheard of that it will end up protecting her.

“Let me correct you really quickly on that, because if my Russian grandmother knew I was being mistaken for those capitalist Western slobs, she would roll over in her grave.” She strides up to him and offers him a dirty hand. “Oksana. And this here is….”

“Mary. And I am one of those Western slobs but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.” Eve says, sticking to the script.

“Well lovely to meet you both.” The barkeep says. “And if it’s all the same, I’d rather not shake your hand just now, not with me having to serve food back here.”

“Oh of course! How silly of me!” Villanelle smiles a big, cheesy grin, really laying it on. “And you are?”

“Name’s Laith. Welcome to Glenfinnan.”

Villanelle very subtly scents the air and gets nothing but flat white noise in response. Phhft. Betas.

“Lovely.” Villanelle says back. “Wonderful to be here in your little hamlet.”

“Well thank you, lassie. Will you be staying long?” He says, pulling out a ledger and opening it on the bar in front of it.

“Could say. Just bought Cricthon Manor.”

“Really? That’s wonderful news, knowing it’s going to have a new life! Aye, I had some good times there….” He grins wolfishly at them.

“Yeah, I can tell a lot of people in this village have had a good time there. Mainly by the smell.” Villanelle says with just a bit of sass and he has the good graces to look sheepish.

“Oh, aye, it must be in quite the state. Please don’t let that be a reflection of your new home here, though. I’m afraid that my niece Iona and her little gang of Alphas have made a bit of a clubhouse out of it, but you know how kids are.”

“Alphas will be Alphas, right?” Villanelle says.

“As true today as it was four hundred years ago when the place was built. By an invading British Earl who first lived there, limey bastard. I suppose if it has to be another foreigner making a life there, an American Alpha and a Russian Omega is okay.”

“Oh I’m not…” Eve started.

“I mean, if anyone knows what it’s like to hate the British, it’s an American, right?” Villanelle interrupts.

“Aye, that’s the truth!” And they’re both chuckling at this while Eve is looking more than a little lost.

“About those rooms?” Eve says.

“Hey, now, no need for that. No shame in asking for one room for you and your Omega. We tolerate all kinds here, female Alphas, female Omegas who have decided that a female Alpha is enough for her, all kinds.”

“Wow, tolerate. Such a strong word.” Eve responds before Villanelle can point out the beautiful mural currently defacing the walls of her living room as a sign of how this place feels about gays. “Lovely to know, Laith.”

“Just sign your name here,” He turns the ledger to Eve automatically, because of course, it’s the Alpha who is in charge of these kinds of things while Villanelle clenches her fists in an attempt to not react. “And there you go, just up these stairs and to the left. Mind yourself when pulling the chain on the toilet, it tends to fall off half the time. But good news, you get two complimentary Sunday Roasts with the room, so it’s your lucky day.”

“Wonderful.” Eve shoulders her bag and turns to the stairs, obviously expecting Villanelle to follow, which she does without even thinking about it. They’re standing in the room before she even realizes that her instincts had taken over and she’d followed Eve like a little duckling.

“Well, this is actually quite nice.” Eve says, looking around at the small but cozy room.

They both register the bed covered in a soft looking white coverlet embroidered with flowers at the same time, realizing that they’re going to have to share what looks to be a barely bigger than a twin sized mattress. Villanelle feels her heart beat double time at the idea of being curled up next to Eve again, just like in their… her… THE den they’d shared. Even just the thought of being close to Eve’s scent all night makes things seem better though, so she can’t help but be grateful for this small turn of events.

She ends up even more grateful once she’s scrubbed clean, in her favorite Burberry shirt dress, and eating the most delicious and satisfying meal she’s had since the night before she broke into Konstantin’s house. The roast is so tender it practically falls apart under the thick, rich, perfectly seasoned gravy, and despite the barkeep’s hatred of the British, this place is serving the lightest Yorkshire puddings Villanelle has ever tasted. She doesn’t realize the little replete noises she’s making until she catches Eve looking at her.

“Better?” Eve asks in a voice that has more than a hint of the tenderness she’d tried to deny earlier today in the car.

It makes something in Villanelle SOAR, which, honestly, she would have tried to deny before, but now, just this little bit of it, if that’s all she’s ever going to get, she’ll fucking take it. When she looks up though, she notices that the other patrons in the bar have apparently noticed the scent of happy Omega, because everyone is smiling at her, at the both of them.

Villanelle sees what they see in that moment. She sees an Alpha providing and caring for her Omega and the Omega shining under that attention. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter whether Eve means it or not, she wants it to be true so badly, she can’t stop herself.

“Yes, Alpha.” She whispers, eyes down.

When she gets no response, she ventures a look up at Eve, who has an incredibly uncomfortable look on her face, and wow, isn’t that what ever girl wants to see in response to being vulnerable.

If that’s how it’s going to be, then fine. She can bury that need deep inside her subconscious, and cover it up with all the irritation and anger she can find. Because that? That was a gift she was offering up, and Eve obviously isn’t interested.

It’s a lot easier an hour later to wrap herself in annoyance when they’re up in their room, trying to navigate the one bed situation. Eve is being so painfully awkward that Villanelle is right back to feeling extremely irritated with all the flustering and uncertainty.

“I mean, I can ask for a cot? Or something? But I don’t want to blow our cover…”

“Oh, our cover is full on lez couple then?”

“I mean, I think that decision was made for us when Outlander down there booked us this one room.”

“Okay, first of all, Outlander is who the chick is, not the hot young virgin she deflowers…”

“You watch Outlander?”

“I read the books, yes, because when you have to travel to many different places to kill many important people, a door stopper is what you need on the plane. And yes, I watched it. Why is it so hard to believe that I do these normal things?”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t see you binge watching Netflix. It just seems so… mundane.”

“Sometimes even fabulous, glamorous people like myself do things like read and watch well produced television.”

What she doesn’t say is that she watches it alone in her apartment because she has no one in her life she trusts enough to be vulnerable with like that. Not anymore anyways.

“My point before you rudely interrupted me with your assumptions is that you’re being stupid, and we can share the bed. It’s not like we haven’t before.” She fixes her with a hard gaze, daring her to contradict her.

“I don’t know if that would be a good idea.” Eve says, not able to look her in the eye.

“Look, you’ve firmly established that you have no interest in me and were merely doing me a favor and whatever other bullshit you heaped on me this morning…”

“It wasn’t bullshit, I was just trying…”

“Fine, whatever, let’s go with it not being bullshit, what difference does it make? The point is that we can sleep in the same bed and it won’t ‘cross any boundaries’.” And, yes, she uses actual air quotes because she can be annoying too.

“Fine.”

“Great.”

“I’m just…” Eve points towards the bathroom door.

“Yup, great, sounds good.” Villanelle is already turning to her own bags, because she could care less if Eve hides in there.

She whips off her shirt and is reaching back behind herself to undo her bra when she sees Eve standing there, staring.

“You wanna see them again?” She snarks.

“No, I mean, I’m just…”

“OH MY GOD, EVE, JUST GO!”

And if she yells that loud enough that the people downstairs in the pub hear it, then good. They’re eventually going to have to ‘break up’ so they might as well sow some seeds of doubt about the strength of their relationship now.

For someone who took a 45 minute long shower before dinner, Eve takes an awful long time in the bathroom. By the time she comes out, Villanelle is in bed, facing outward, reading the complimentary copy of the Sun that came with the room. She’s much too fascinated with this story of the bloke who shagged his Omega and her sister in a lewd drunken threesome and they both got pregnant and they’re raising the babies together and now they want to all get married even though two of those people are siblings. God, England is disgusting.

Eve slips into the bed next to her, not saying anything, just turning off her light. Villanelle looks over her shoulder to see her stiffly laying on her side facing the wall. There’s something missing though, something’s changed. She takes in a deep inhalation and realizes that Eve’s scent isn’t there.

That must have been why she was in the bathroom for so long, she took scent blockers and then was waiting for them to kick in, probably even scrubbed herself again to get any remaining bit of scent off.

Good. That’s great.

She flicks off the light and they both lay in the darkness not moving, both knowing that the other is awake and not saying anything. The silence is so thick that she can hear everything, the sound of them closing up the pub below, then Eve’s definitely-not-asleep breathing, the ticking of the old clock on the mantle of the little fireplace in the corner of the room. The sound of her own swallowing sounds like a truck downshifting it’s so loud in this quiet. Laying in this tension, Villanelle feels her sadness eclipsing her anger again, bringing something completely foreign with it.

Doubt creeps in, doubt about her ability to be worthy of Eve, worthy of care, and safety, about her inability to make Eve want her, not just as a quick fuck, but as a partner, as someone who she can trust and even, fuck, maybe even one day, she might be able to feel something… maybe she would actually….

But even in her head, it sounds ridiculous. There’s no way the stiff, cold Alpha lying behind her could ever love her. The heaviness of this makes silent tears leak from her eyes, rolling over the bridge of her nose and down to the linen pillowcase under her.

She’s back in her den, the walls close, everything so red, and but there’s what looks like ridges on the walls, and the bed under her has a long divet in the center, and there’s something white around the top that look like teeth and she realizes that she’s inside a giant mouth, laying on a wet tongue, She tries to crawl off but her hands keep slipping, and the more she struggles the more stuck she is. Panic starts to set in when she realizes she’s trapped.

Eve. Eve has to be out there somewhere, right? Eve wouldn’t leave her alone in this.

And yes, there’s Eve, she crawling towards her, crawling slowly but her face, her face looks twisted, sneering, full of cruelty. Villanelle recoils from this, tries to back away but can’t get purchase under herself, keeps slipping.

“No, no, no.” Eve is hissing at her. “Never. Never.”

“Stop!” Villanelle feels panic swelling in her.

“This isn’t real. None of this is real.”

“Yes it is! I can feel it! I can see it!”

“Stupid, stupid Omega. That’s all you are.”

“Stop it!”

“Never, Omega. Never real. No, no, no.”

“STOP IT!! STOP!!!”

The panic is too much then, it’s like a cresting wave towering in front of her, and right when it’s about to drown her, she pulls herself out.

She’s scrambling around then, somewhere dark and unfamiliar, and there’s no scent there, nothing to tell her where she is, not until she hears Eve’s voice.

“Hey, it wasn’t real, Villanelle, it’s okay, it wasn’t real.”

This is too close to the fearful, hated words she just heard and she’s too confused as to where she is and what’s happening, that she feels herself pulling away, rolling over, curling up.

All she feels is fear, panic, and then, like a lead blanket on her, rejection. It’s the sting of rejection that makes her break and she starts to sob, full on sob in a way she never has before, not for years and years.

“Villanelle.” It’s an Alpha’s voice. It can’t be Eve’s voice, though. Eve isn’t her Alpha.

“Go away.” She’s got nothing left and just wants to be left alone.

“Villanelle, listen to me, it’s okay. You just had an Omega nightmare. They’re common when you’re not on any kind of birth control. Your hormones are all out of whack right now, and they’re sending out all kinds of false signals.”

“Didn’t feel false.”

“I know, I know.”

There’s a hand on her shoulder, and she lets herself be rolled over onto her back because at this point, it’s easier to not fight it. She looks up at Eve leaning over her, and yes, there’s a soft hand on her cheek, a thumb wiping tears off her face.

"I'm sorry." Eve whispers, and she doesn't know if she's apologizing for the nightmare, for the house, for how shitty everything is, for what a shitty Alpha she is. All she can do is squeeze her eyes shut, pushing tears down her cheeks and shake her head. 

There's a caress over her cheeks again, drying those tears and she can feel Eve curling around her.

“Everything’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s okay.”

She wants to scream at her, she wants to call her out, she wants to tell her to fuck off and stop calling her that, stop pretending. But she’s so tired. Everything is too much, and she is exhausted, and it’s dark and safe and everything feels unreal still, so why not just believe this, believe that it’s her Alpha saying this. So rolls into Eve, tucks herself into her shoulder, and pulls in that last faint scent, now almost gone.

______

[Glenfinnan, Scotland](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glenfinnan)


	13. Eating Habits

Of course when she wakes up the next morning, Eve is gone, her side of the bed cold.

At this point, Villanelle isn’t exactly sure what she herself is, but she does know one thing. Eve is a shitty Alpha.

Dressed and ready for whatever fresh hell this day has to give her, Villanelle descends down the incredibly narrow and cramped staircase into the pub. It smells delicious in there, homey and comforting.

“Good morning, lass! Hope you slept alright!” Laith is there, wiping down a table.

There’s a couple sitting in the corner, who look up when he speaks and smile at Villanelle, a seemingly genuine smile, and before she realizes it, she’s smiling back.

“Breakfast?” Laith asks, obviously noticing how she’s sniffing in the scents in the room. “We got Eggs Benedict this morning. Fresh eggs from the MacKay farm, and the ham is a little piggie that lived, loved and died over at Johnny here’s farm.”

The man in the corner waves.

“Welcome to our village! Let me know what you think of my ham!”

This is a sentence Villanelle never thought she would hear, but isn’t life a crazy bitch like that.

Laith is pouring her a strong cup of tea as she sits at one of the table when he flicks his gaze out the window.

“That Alpha of yours, she’s been on the phone for an hour now. Sounds like she’s arranging all sorts of things.”

Villanelle turns and sees Eve pacing back and forth in front of the building, a cigarette in her hand. Gross.

“I can tell by that look you don’t approve of the smoking. I figured as much when she snuck out there all guilty like this morning.”

Villanelle doesn’t point out that it probably wasn’t the smoking that Eve was feeling guilty about. Before she can respond, he’s headed towards the kitchen. When he comes out with a big plateful of food, any kind of sourness in her disappears.

She devours it, another divine meal, and she’s so grateful for it after the last week of junk. Everything tastes rich and full, and she realizes that besides being beautifully cooked and put together, all the ingredients are fresh and local, meaning nothing’s sat in a freezer lorry for weeks being shipped in from some foreign country.

Well, shit, if all those Shop Local idiots weren’t right.

Laith lets her eat her meal before approaching her again, and isn’t that a sign of good service?

“I just wanted to let you know, Iona and her little band of arseholes are going out to your place today to clean it up. I called my sister last night, told her of the state of the place and she came down on my niece with a roaring thunder. Could hear her shouting at her all the way over to my house.”

“Oh, that’s…” Villanelle is highly doubtful of a bunch of teenagers’ ability to clean her house to the level she requires.

“I know what you’re thinking, you probably don’t trust a bunch of hooligans to do a good enough job, but my sister won’t accept anything less than hospital level clean from them. Especially considering she’s a nurse herself. I think that’s why your Alpha agreed to let them do it in the first place.”

Villanelle really, really wishes they had gone with a different cover, one where Eve wasn’t her Alpha. Not only is it not true, it feels almost cruel to have the idea even presented to her at this point. But she knows she can’t ask, she knows that she has a role to play.

“Well, if Mary thinks that’s okay, well of course then it must be.” Villanelle fake simpers, but must put it on a little too heavily because something flickers over Laith’s face in response, a micro expression that reads like doubt. Or maybe concern?

“She also was asking my sister about finding a clinic somewhere close also? For you? I don’t mean to pry, but apparently, you’re looking for a fertility clinic?”

Oh for the love of god, again with the pregnancy clinics? Really?

“Oh, no, I’m afraid there won’t be any of that until our lovely new home is ready to receive any new additions!” She smiles beatifically at him.

“My mistake, then.” Again he’s looking at her a little funny, and honestly, what about this little Omega housewife routine isn’t doing it for him? “Either way, I gave her my sister’s number, which is why I imagine she’s been out there for the last 45 minutes while my sister’s been trying to get every piece of gossip out of her she possibly can.”

ABORT ABORT! Villanelle has to shut down that inquisition as soon as possible because Eve sucks at creating a believable cover. She thanks him for the breakfast and all but runs outside.

“Well, of course I haven’t thought that far ahead, but I know that Oksana wants any of our children to attend a private school, though I am sure that the village school is quite lovely and sufficient.” Eve says into the phone.

Oh GOD. Villanelle gives her an incredulous face, flapping her arms at her. I DON’T KNOW HELP ME OH GOD Eve mouths at her, and yeah, time for this conversation to end.

“Alpha, I don’t know whether to wear my pink fuzzy sweater or my baby blue fuzzy sweater today! You have to decide for me! Whatever you want to see me in, that’s what I’ll wear, honey.” She says in a sweet, vaguely simpering voice, loud enough to be heard over the phone.

“Oh, there’s Oksana now. Yes, that’s true, Omegas are so indecisive when it comes to so many things. Yes, she just can’t decide which one right now, and oh no, looks like she’s crying now! Oh, yes, just a bit of an Omega breakdown, ha, ha, okay well I better let you go thank you so much for all the suggestions and thank your daughter again and we’ll be by the place tomorrow to see how it looks and yes, yes, I know you’ll be there to make sure it is all spic and span and yes, yes, you mentioned that she’s grounded for a hundred years, ha, ha, well, maybe one day we might know what being a mom is like, ha, ha, oh okay, okay, okay, yes, sounds good, yes, ha ha, true, true, okay, thank you again, okay, yes, have a good day too.” Eve finally hangs up the phone. “FUCK!”

This has to be one of the funniest things she’s seen in awhile and she can’t help but snort laughing at Eve.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. You’re just lucky you weren’t hear for the part of the conversation where she was asking me about your bowel movements.” Eve runs her hands hard over her face. “Apparently that’s something an Alpha should know about their Omega.”

“How the hell did you get to talking about my shits?”

“I asked her for a clinic that you could go to, one that was more open minded to modern ideas of sexuality and gender and designations. To which I had to listen for a half hour about how those damn idiot Tories keep trying to tell her what she’s allowed to do with her body and they can go hang if they think that she’s supposed to pay for birth control.” Eve cracks her neck, shakes out her shoulders. “Thank god that’s over. Anyways she told me about a clinic about a half hour drive from here. Apparently very open minded. That is, assuming you still want…”

Villanelle flashes to the last week of her life, that rat doctor, all the pathetic crying. She thinks of the heat, of how all encompassing that pleasure was, those emotions, and how wonderful that felt in the moment. The last two days, however, have been so sharp, painful in a way she’s never experienced before and all she wants in this moment is to end that weakness, that dependency on Eve.

“Yes, I want those Alpha hormones. I want what is proving to be one of the worst times of my life over with as soon as possible.”

The implication of what she’s saying in terms of Eve and what she did is heavy on these words, and she can see Eve catching it by the quick flash over her face of something, doubt or what, hurt? Unlikely that, but at least it still stung.

“Did Laith tell you that his niece and her little gang of Alpha shitheads are going to clean your place?” Eve says, glazing over it.

“I seriously doubt that they’ll do a good enough job.”

“I thought so too, but I don’t think Grace is the kind of woman you disappoint.”

“Well, if this place is supposed to be clean by tomorrow, then I’m going to have to do some shopping if we’re going to be able to live in there.”

“I thought the same thing so I got a list of estate sales and antique stores that are within a reasonable distance that we can check out. I figured they would have something meeting your standards.”

She’ll be damned if Eve already knows her well enough to know the aesthetic she’s going for.

“Should be fine. For now.” But she’ll also be damned if she lets Eve know that she caught this, though. Right now, she’s not planning on giving Eve even an inch more than she deserves.

“Well, we can head to a couple of them today. At least get some beds and other basic furniture.”

Beds, plural. So the shared one upstairs apparently is a one off. Fine. Whatever.

“I didn’t see the kitchen, but I’m going to assume that it isn’t furnished with top of line, chef level appliances.”

“Why do you need chef level appliances?”

“Because they’re shiny and classy looking and sometimes I like to burn other things besides steak.” She says. “And how exactly am I going to be paying to furnish my new MI6 provided shithole?”

“Actually, Carolyn overnight couriered your credit card.” She hands her an Amex black card with Eve’s name on it.

“This doesn’t look like mine.”

“Well, we couldn’t exactly issue you one in your name. Plus I think this is Carolyn’s way of making sure you don’t up and run off on me.”

Villanelle stops at this, looking at Eve. She’s wondering if this is something Eve actually asked for and is passing it off onto Carolyn. She remembers how desperate Eve was yesterday in the mud, asking Villanelle not to go, saying she’d never forgive herself if something happened to her. As much as she wants to think there is any other motive besides her wanting to do her job, Villanelle knows that it is, as always, a professional interest.

“Well, isn’t this perfectly traditional, can’t trust an Omega with their own credit card.”

“Hey, I’m not going to stop you from buying stuff.”

“Not just stuff, Eve. You in your 15 dollars H&M shirt better not try and stop my Burberry wearing self from buying exactly what I deserve. And by that, I mean the best.”

“Ordinarily I would try and stop you, but after seeing what Carolyn tried to pass off on you, I say the more expensive, the better.”

They get back into the accursed car and drive a half hour until they reach something resembling an actual city. Once they get there, Eve reaches into the ten inches of space that constitutes the back seat in this tuna can and pulls out a large padded envelope, handing it to Villanelle. Inside is an iPhone still in the box.

“It's all set up for you already. And yes, I have your GPS information from it linked to my phone, and I would go ahead and assume that anything you do on it is being monitored by MI6. Deal with it. Now you can order online as much shit as you want that you can’t get anywhere around here.”

At this point, because she hasn’t seen the house yet, nothing seems like a safe bet. She knows Eve probably expects her to order like air mattresses so they can rough it and sleep on the floor but there’s no way she’s doing that.

“Let’s get some food, real food. I’m assuming there’s some hideous white fridge in the kitchen that’s full of god-knows-what, but if it’s all been renovated then hopefully it still works.” She decides.

They go into the local Tesco where Eve grabs a shopping cart and they start going up and down the aisles. Despite saying she wanted real food, Eve keeps grabbing all of this preprocessed garbage, because apparently she’s been eating like a depressed bachelor weeping over his single servings of soup. After the third bag of frozen french fries, Villanelle can’t take it anymore.

“You’re not the single divorcee right now, Eve. You don’t have to eat your beans cold and out of a can over the sink. We can eat real meals, together, ones that require an actual plate and a knife, and maybe some seasoning.”

“Oh ha, ha.” Eve says sarcastically, but lets Villanelle take all that crap out of the cart anyways.

“See, this is better.” She says as they go to the produce aisle. “Fresh ingredients. Actual flavour.”

She starts filling the cart with lettuce, basil, tomatoes, peppers, leeks, fennel, dill, then oranges, berries, bananas, avocados.

“I might be shit at cooking, but I make damn good smoothie bowls, and amazing salads. Just need some dry goods for them.”

Villanelle leads them over to the cereal and grains aisle, buys a big bag of balsamic rice, some granola, oats, quinoa, then little bags of chia seeds, flax, sunflower seeds, hemp hearts.

“This is all good to help keep you regular. If you’ve been eating sad single Alpha food for this long, something tells me you need it.”

“Oh now we’re talking about my bowel movements?”

“Gross.” She starts to throw packets of different herbs and spices into the cart. “These are called seasoning. They’re for your food so they don’t just taste like boiled water and English mediocrity.”

“I grew up eating Korean food, I know spicy and savory.”

Villanelle pushes the cart over to the refrigerated section, poking at the pale, fatty wrapped meat of unidentifiable origin.

“This looks like what it is, filled with antibiotics and raised in a pen the size of our stupid car, so we’re going to take a pass on that one. Besides, I know the local butcher in my new happy little village.”

“Oh do you?”

“Yes, Oksana is very friendly.”

“All of this looks very healthy and wholesome and all, but I am going to have to insist we buy at least some Oreos, maybe some crisps, and definitely some Dairy Milk bars.”

“Eve, refined sugar is so bad for you.”

“So is dealing with your ass, but I’m still here, ain’t I?”

Villanelle rolls her eyes at this, but concedes.

“FINE. But only one of those things.”

“Oreos it is.”

Eve is pushing the cart back towards the cookie aisle when it hits Villanelle, something almost like a high. Like last night, this again seems like they’re playacting, pretending so good at being the happy little couple out shopping together that her hormones think it’s real. It’s so heady it is making her feel a little giddy, and she knows that it’s not just her. Eve’s cheeks are flushed with happiness, and her smile is so easy, and when she tries to sneakily toss in some Jam N Creams Villanelle lets her, let’s them have this.

After they leave, Villanelle sees a little clothing store down the street, full of pieces made from Scottish wool and there’s no way she’s passing up luxury knits from the Highlands. There’s everything from tams to sweater socks to blankets to beautiful big coats to the prerequisite kilts. Villanelle buys a bit of everything, then insists that Eve try things on as well. When she sees her in the big cozy jumpers and fuzzy socks, Villanelle feels herself melt a bit inside and all of that is going into their bags too.

They go back to the pub and Laith insists they put their groceries in the pub fridge. He commends Villanelle for making sure her Alpha eats healthy. He says it with a sympathetic look to Eve though, like she’s the brave one to let Villanelle do this.

“Hey, if she insists on making me eat my leafy greens, who am I to say no?”

“And what about these?” Villanelle says, pulling out the bag of Twizzlers from Eve’s coat that Eve thought she didn’t see her slip into her pocket when they stopped to get gas.

“Oops, looks like she’s on to you!” Laith laughs, clapping Eve on the shoulder. “These Omegas, they always got eyes on you.”

For dinner, Laith brings out two big plates full of, shockingly, aloo gobi, naan bread and pakora on the side. Eve takes it completely in stride that they could get this out there, and Villanelle has to think about it for only a second. Right. Colonialism. White privilege. The whole enslavement of a race and the attempt at cultural genocide. Apparently the British were too busy with that to get modern dentistry, judging by the janky chompers she’s seen in this country. Well, at least all that means she gets some of the best Indian food she’s had since she was in Bombay last Christmas, killing that opium dealing kingpin asshole who pissed all over her suede Vivienne Westwood platforms while she choked him out. She’d shot him in the dick for that even though he was already dead, because, hello, principles, respect. They were vintage, for godsake.

Things are less tense when they go upstairs for the night. Something about the unity of all they did that day bleeds through and they’re much more cordial to one another. She doesn’t want to risk breaking this spell by pushing Eve too far, so when she gets into bed, she faces the outside like she’d done the night before.

She’s shocked, genuinely shocked, when she feels Eve get in and, chancing a glance over her shoulder, sees her facing her, a soft smile on her face when she catches Villanelle looking. Never one to back down from a challenge, she scoots back until she can feel the heat from Eve’s body close to hers and waits for a response.

She gets one in the form of Eve tentatively landing a hand on her hip and then lightly snoring within minutes. Villanelle figures this means Eve is comfortable enough to let her guard down a bit, finally. It’s enough for her to let her own down and she falls quickly asleep.

When she wakes up to the feeling of sunlight hitting her face, she’s relieved that she’s managed to go all night without having a nightmare. It’s not until she takes in a deep breath that she realizes why.

It’s there, around her, on her. Eve’s scent, that warm citrus, she can feel it all over her, and, fuck, she's not taken the blockers, and her scent, it's a gift, a gift for her that had come to her throughout the night. But there’s more. No longer lying just a few inches apart, now she’s firmly seated against Eve’s warm, sleeping body, Eve spooned up tight behind her with her arm tight around Villanelle’s waist, and yeah, they’re definitely holding hands, and oh, yup, their legs are all tangled up. She feels something in that embrace, in the scent of happy sleeping Alpha, an echo of something…

Safe. She feels safe. Again. Held with such a fierceness that she can pretend it's the possessive grip of an Alpha holding their treasured mate. She turns gingerly, trying not to wake Eve up, until she’s laying on her back and looking at Eve’s face, relaxed with sleep. She turns her head then, burying her nose in Eve’s curls that are splayed out on the pillow and she's so very safe again.


	14. Housewarming

When Eve wakes up, she’s immediately flushing and pulling away, and the rush of cool air on her warmed skin is enough to bring Villanelle back to reality. She spends the rest of the morning not saying anything, but as Villanelle is getting ready in the bathroom, she hears Eve hovering by the space where she’d purposely left the door ajar. She had a feeling that Eve needed the confessional style set up to speak her truth.

“I hope it’s okay that I, uh, stop taking the scent blockers. I just figured that maybe it would help our cover if you’re scent marked by, you know…”

“My Alpha?” Villanelle says quietly back through the door.

“Yeah.” There’s a wistfulness in that one world, so much so that it makes her push the door open because she has to see Eve’s face.

Their eyes meet, and they hold that look for a moment, two, three. Villanelle is searching, looking for the truth that’s written in Eve’s face, then she scents the air, and yes, there it is. The scent says what Eve won’t. Warm, centered, content. An Alpha fulfilling their biological imperative to care, protect. This role playing, the Alpha and her Omega, cozy and replete with each other, it’s so easy for them, because, whether Eve admits it or not, it’s coming from something real and true. Villanelle knows this, and nothing Eve says from now on will persuade her any differently.

Laith discreetly scents them when they come downstairs and smiles at Eve.

“Glad you’re feeling welcome enough to let your true scent out. Certainly seems to help your Omega seem less jittery.” Villanelle overhears him saying quietly to Eve, and excuse me, jittery? He’s lucky she didn’t go full homicidal after the week she’s had.

After another almost obscenely good breakfast (some kind of smoked fish called Finnan haddie and savory bread called butteries) Eve makes a call to Grace who says that they can head towards the house, assured that it has indeed been put back to rites. This time Eve knows to avoid the giant mud pond and they’re able to pull up to the house. Villanelle notices all the doors and windows are open, so hopefully the stink of horny teenagers is gone.

With more than a little trepidation, Villanelle walks into the house. There’s still no light on in the front hall, but even in the dimness, besides all the mops and buckets and cleaning supplies, she can now see the beautiful oak paneling on the walls, obviously original.

When she goes into the front room, it’s a shock.

This, this is a little more fucking like it. All the trash, the mattress, everything has been taken out, and the room is empty, filled with nothing but promise now. There’s the same wood paneling on the walls, totally unblemished, the original beams high in the vaulted ceiling. The floor is roughly hewn oak planks, each at least a foot and a half wide, the perfect amount of distressed, and the windows, well, the windows…

Villanelle walks towards the big dormer that has to be at least fifteen feet tall, and sees all the way across the Loch, to the rolling hills on the other side right now shrouded in a heavy mist. She turns around and finally really sees the big stone fireplace, big enough to park their car in.

Absolutely gorgeous.

She hears creaking behind her, and assumes it’s Eve, just as overwhelmed with the change.

“Damn, those little assholes did a good job.” Villanelle says.

“Well they well better have, considering the right mess they made in here.” And yeah, that’s not Eve.

Even without registering any scent, she knows this voice belongs to an Alpha. Turning around, she sees a middle aged woman, red haired and stocky, barely above five feet, looking around with a harshly appraising eye. Villanelle tries to forgive herself for letting a member of the Lollipop Guild sneak up on her.

“I am sorry about all that mess. Trust me when I say each one of those shites have paid in full for their disrespect of this beautiful old place.” She’s walking towards Villanelle now, hand extended. “You must be Oksana. I’m Grace, lovely to finally meet you.”

As they’re shaking hands, Eve comes in, followed by some very guilty looking teens.

“Aye, and don’t you owe these two ladies an apology, all of you.” Grace says sternly, in a pure Alpha, no-bullshit voice.

“I’m so sorry.” One of the girls, tall, willowy, pale as milk with long black hair, comes forward, with a guilty look on her face. “We honestly didn’t mean to let it get that bad. And it wasn’t real spray paint, just this chalk stuff that Aileen ordered off of Amazon. Plus Jayden actually is a… you know, so it wasn’t like, an insult. And we were planning on cleaning it up this very weekend but-”

“That’s enough out of you, Miss Iona.” Grace cuts her off. “Do you have the basket?”

“Yes, mum.” Iona says meekly, holding out a giant basket full of flowers and cloth wrapped bundles.

“Just a few things to help settle you in.” Grace smiles at them as Iona hands it to Eve. “And Laith told me you have a whole load of groceries with you, so this lot will bring them in for you. Won’t you, you bunch of hooligans? Oh! But before we go! I do hope you’ll come out to the farmer’s market in town on Sunday. And if you can’t make it this Sunday, it’s every Sunday until well, whenever we’re all tired of it. Usually ends up being around September.”

Oh, god, pass is her first reaction, but then she thinks about how good all this local food is and well maybe.

“Well, we’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure you both have some initiating to do of your new house!” Grace says with a raised eyebrow, much to the mortification of her daughter.

Villanelle lets Eve be in charge of showing them out. She’s got a house to scope out.

All the upstairs rooms, each bedroom and bathroom, the trunk room, the maid’s quarters, they smell only of old stale air so she knows that they’ve not been entered in years. But everything is like Eve said, freshly painted, fixed up, the bathroom fixtures all shiny and new. She imagines the downstairs bathrooms weren’t always so, but they look as clean as the upstairs when she checks them out.

The kitchen in the back is a good size, with an antique stove and an eating nook in the dormer window, and sure enough, a white refrigerator. Off the back of it, though, and lining half of the downstairs, is a glassed in conservatory. The ideas of what to do with this big bright space start to fill her head, and suddenly, things aren’t looking so terrible. It’s just like Eve said yesterday, this place is the perfect canvas for her to make into what she wants.

The kids have brought all their groceries into the house, along with the paper wrapped bundle from Johnny the Butcher, who was so flattered by all the compliments about the breakfast ham from breakfast that he insisted of giving them a whole freezer full of meat for half what they would have paid at the Tesco, as well as throwing in a cast iron pan and a big pot to borrow until they get one of their own.

Once everything’s put away, they get back in the tuna can car and drive through the Scottish countryside going from estate sale to estate sale, antique store to antique store. Eve knows enough to not make any suggestions, but will offer her honest opinion when asked. All the sellers and proprietors they encounter smile at the picture of happy domesticity they present, the Omega excited to furnish their home while the indulgent and patient Alpha pays for everything with her credit card. The vibe from that morning just gets more solidified, and it starts to come so naturally, this back and forth, that she feels truly and thoroughly happy, something that usually she only feels for a brief moment when she’s watching the life fade from someone’s eyes. It is, honestly, the best day Villanelle has had in a long time, probably since that job she did where she posed as a Greek aristocrat spending her husband’s money during Paris Fashion Week and got to go to all the shows and sit next to Fan Bing Bing at Dior.

She quickly works out a theme, referencing the history and style of the house but also filling it with a few more streamlined pieces, nothing shockingly modern, just not as heavy and baroque as the dark wood walls and giant stone fireplace would make you expect. She goes for rich jewel tones, lots of damask, and many 17th and 18th century paintings of beautiful women. For the kitchen and for the dining room, she finds a full serving set for ten people, as if she would ever find ten people she’d trust enough to come into her house, but that doesn’t matter. She wants to experience the sensation of coming downstairs and seeing the whole table laid out, candles and silver and china on an exquisite lace tablecloth once owned by Robert the Bruce.

Using her phone, she orders all brand new, top of the line steel appliances, schedules someone to come in and install new cupboards and countertops, buys mattresses and linens for the four poster heart of walnut beds, ones that go with the Victorian draperies in each bedroom, with chifferobes and tall mirrors and rugs that Earls and Lords had trod upon centuries ago. For the conservatory she books a greenskeeper to come in, with orders to fill it with as many big plants as possible.

Something else starts to form while she’s shopping, though. There’s a room in the back of the house, on the bottom floor, by the kitchen. It was most likely a room for the housekeeper or the butler, as it’s on the smaller side with only one tiny stained glass window depicting a rose. With a completely unnecessary feeling of secrecy, she orders a big, extremely pillowed couch, one that the manufacturer described as ‘perfect for nesting.’ Then she orders many cashmere blankets, as well as some soft velvet ones, all in a dark crimson to go with the darkly burnished copper colour of the couch. She adds on some low tables, and then a 61 inch television set, so she can justify the room as the ‘entertainment room’ when, in reality she’s trying to recreate that room from the hotel, her den.

She would damned if she admitted that to anyone, especially Eve. Eve didn’t need to know about this room. Not yet at least, said some random voice in her head, one that she scoffed at and agreed with at the same time.

That night when they get back to the house Eve finally goes on her own tour of the house while Villanelle changes into one of the big sweaters she bought, throwing it over a pair of All Saints jeans with some insanely soft cashmere socks. Meeting up back in the kitchen they go through the basket Grace had given them. It’s full of fresh, homemade baking, scones, butter cookies, some homemade jams, and a big pot pie, all ready for the oven.

This time, Villanelle decides that she can take over dinner without fear and tells Eve as such.

“Are you sure you’re not going to burn this? Because I’m guessing it’s going to taste amazing.” Eve says holding up the pot pie.

“I know how to turn on the stove and timer, Eve.” She rolls her eyes, but when she puts it in the oven, she re-reads Grace’s hand written instructions for time and temperature four times to be sure she’s got it right. She makes a big salad to go with it, full of veggies and lots of different seeds and nuts for protein, with a quick vinaigrette dressing she makes from scratch, because hello, she’s not totally useless.

When the timer goes off, Villanelle is right there, pulling the pie out. It smells like warm, savory comfort, and is the perfect shade of golden brown. She dishes everything up on paper plates, making sure Eve sees her looking so pleased with herself for not fucking this up this time. When she looks up to check, Eve’s eyes are focused on her in a way that she’s seen before, days ago, looking down at her as she fed her protein bars and water.

This sends a jolt into Villanelle’s body, this feeling of taking what was provided for her and making something to feed her Alpha. It’s so strong that she knows it goes into her scent right away. That’s confirmed when she sees Eve detect it, watches her flush and then rush over to the fridge for a distraction. There’s a smile there, though, small and secret, and yes, it again feels real, this truth Eve is trying to deny.

“Here, let me pour us some wine.” Eve says, pulling out a bottle.

They go into the front room with their plates and plastic wine glasses and cutlery and sit on the window seats in the dormer window. Balancing their plates on their laps, they eat quietly, both looking out the window as the Scottish sun sets, the light golden, the shadows long. By the play of this, the absolute smoke show of nature they witness, Villanelle knows that this window was placed here for the exact reason of catching this view every night, and has for hundreds of years now. This time, though, her and this incredibly annoying and irritating endearing woman who’s currently looking at her with what can only be described as Alpha satisfaction are here to witness it, together.

Eve’s holding up her glass, smiling at her, the last of the light over her face making her skin glow.

“To the first meal in your new home. Cheers.”

They clink glasses with a dull thump and not the bell ring of crystal, but in that moment, cozy in her sweater, tummy full of good food, this house full of potential around her, and a beautiful Alpha across from her, things finally seem not horrible for the first time in a week. Maybe even longer, when she thinks about how miserable she was a month ago when she realized that Konstantin was lying to her, keeping the fact that he had a daughter, his actual daughter who he cried and begged on his knees to protect.

Not like Villanelle who he would send out into situations where she could die, painfully and slowly, and only praise her when she came back, hands bloody with whatever task he’d assigned her. The distant prick of hurt that started all this, that feeling of disregard and false emotions from him, it seemed less now. Like a shadow of a feeling she used to have. So maybe she’d pushed it too far. So what. Konstantin would never take her for granted again.

That night they go back to the inn to sleep. It plays out like the night before, though this time it’s Eve in bed first, facing inward, her arm folded up under her head. When Villanelle gets into bed, she’s unable to look directly at Eve for some stupid reason as she too, faces inward. She closes her eyes tight and waits to see what’s going to happen next, none-too-subtly taking in hits of Eve’s warm scent. She’d been able to smell it on herself throughout the day, but it had faded much too quickly. Feeling something brush her cheek, she opens her eyes.

Eve has that smile again, the content one, as she smoothes Villanelle’s hair back from her face.

“My scent, did it help you sleep last night? Did you get any nightmares?”

“None.” Villanelle is caught in the suspension of this moment, daring not to move.

“Good.” Eve’s hand goes to the back of her head and lightly starts to pull her closer. Villanelle has a moment of thrilling panic thinking she’s being brought in to be kissed when instead, she’s brought into Eve’s chest. She turns to tuck her face up into the nook of Eve’s neck like she knows she’s meant to.

She takes deep breaths in, pulling that beautiful scent into her, and is wrapping her arms around Eve’s waist and the same time Eve is doing the same to her. She feels Eve’s cheek press to the top of her head and waits, listens, hopes, until she senses it, senses those secret inhalations Eve’s taking of her scent, taking it in again and again until Eve’s own scent goes sweetly strong, reacting, warming to it.

She knew it, she fucking knew it. Again she reveals in that always amazing feeling of knowing she was right with more than a little satisfaction. This time though, she remembers all of the bullshit Eve said about professional duty, of her lying and denying and hurting her, over and over.

That had hurt. That still hurt. It still stung her when she was her most vulnerable. And it makes her hesitant, even now knowing that yes, Eve does want her, to respond in kind. How can she know she can trust Eve, especially when she’s not admitting this truth. And isn’t trust even more important than mutual attraction, even in this weird situation.

Of course Eve wants her. She’s hot as fuck, and is, apparently, an amazing lay no matter what position she’s in. That’s not the point. The point is Eve trying to deny that. Rejecting her with that lie.

It’s enough to make Eve’s scent feel wrong, and before she knows it, she’s pulling away.

“Hey, what’s…” Eve’s confused voice comes over her as she’s turning back towards the wall.

“I need some space. Your scent is a bit much right now.”

Ha. Fuck you, Eve. That’s what it feels like, to be denied what you know is true.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

The soft hurt in Eve’s voice, though, makes her feel like total shit, but it’s too late for takesees-backsees. Eve will just have to feel that ache all night like Villanelle has now for the last few days.

She ends up fucking herself over in this little act of revenge though, when she pulls herself out a nightmare. She’d been chasing Konstantin thought her old apartment in Paris, running out the door and into the streets which suddenly become Glenfinnan, and then her feet are stuck in mud that’s turning into quick sand and she’s screaming for help, for Konstantin, for the Twelve, for MI6 and finally for Eve. When she wakes up, her cheeks are wet, and she flailing, reaching out for someone, for Eve.

She’s pulled into warmth, her back flush to Eve’s front, arms wrapped around her to still her movements. There’s lips at her ear, making nonsensical shushing noises, and then the scent is there, citrus, yes, but with something stronger, a heady spiciness she’s not sensed since she was being fucked slowly then fast then slow in the confines of her den room. The scent of an Alpha, protective, present, focused on only her.

Her body’s reaction is instant, and the only thing she wants, the only thing that will comfort her now is to be touched, to bury all this racing fear in the thick heady scent of Eve’s while she feels the overwhelming joy of coming under Eve’s touch. But she can’t convey this with words, her tongue feels heavy and useless in her mouth, her eyes blinded by the darkness of the room. So she turns over onto her back and arches her body up, pulling at the nightie she’s wearing, rucking it up to expose her thighs, her panties, her belly. She nuzzles into Eve’s chest, only able to make frustrated little huffs when Eve doesn’t immediately respond.

“Are you su-”

“Yes.” She answers before Eve can finish, and suddenly has a moment of clarity about Eve’s hesitancy. “Are you?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure.” Eve says as she draws her hand down Villanelle’s front tracing over her sternum and down over the swell of her tummy, and then slipping fingers under her panties and into where her slick is gathering.

It’s quick, frantic even, on both their parts, this hidden moment in the dark, where they’re both straining towards the same thing. Villanelle feels sweat gather under her body from moving so desperately under the sheets and blankets, and she realizes it’s making her scent even stronger, the heat and the need mixing together.

Suddenly, she’s there, coming with a cry that might have been quiet in the real world, but here in this secret, hushed place out of time and reality sounds all encompassing, a combination of relief and joy and satisfaction.

“There you go, baby, there you go.” Eve is cooing in her ear and this day is definitely the best day ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that there will be no update next Monday. I'm slowly pulling all the threads together for this last act of the story and am not ready to post the next chapter until I know exactly where everything needs to be placed. But it will be updated on Feb 1st, so check back then.


	15. Queen Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to our regularly scheduled updating. :) Please note that all the work I did on this over the past two weeks has upped the chapter count to 20. This story is a beast and I am just along for the ride tbh.

Someone is fucking knocking. Someone who apparently has a death wish, is knocking somewhere out there in the outside world disturbing what has been a truly stellar sleep for Villanelle.

Just as she’s about to burrow further into the warmth she’s currently wrapped in she hears Eve gasp. Then the cozy citrus smell is gone and Villanelle whines in annoyance.

She hears the door open, but doesn’t open her eyes because if she did, she’s liable to wake up and stab whoever it is who’s roused them out of their cozy, snuggly bed.

“Sorry to disturb! I waited to see if I uh, heard anything before I knocked, so I hope I’m not, uh, interrupting anything, ha ha.”

It’s Laith, sounding a little uncomfortable. Ugh. Are Scots all prudes? What about their no panties with skirts rule?

“It’s no problem.” Eve’s voice sounds gravelly from sleep and fuck damn, it’s sexy.

“When you missed breakfast I figured you might have been, you know, ha ha, um, but now there’s a bloke downstairs saying he’s been waiting in front of Cricthon Manor for an hour now to deliver something called a chifforobe, so I’m guessing your alarm didn’t go off…”

“What… wait what time is it?”

“Coming on noon.”

“Oh fucking hell! Oh, god, sorry, pardon my language.”

“Oh lass, you’re in Scotland now, fuck is one of our favorite words.”

“Please tell him that we’ll be right down if he doesn’t mind waiting for just five minutes.”

“Already have. I gave him our sausage, gravy and hash breakfast so he’s in no hurry now, so take your time.”

“Thank you so much, Laith, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Hey, we Alphas gotta stick together!” Oh great, apparently she's surrounded by progressive Alphas.

The door closes, then the overhead light is flicked on, burning out Villanelle’s retinas even from behind her closed lids.

“Jesus, Eve.” She starts to sit up, holding up her hand to shade her blinded eyes.

“Come on, we’re late.”

“Fffff.”

“It’s about to be interior design Christmas at your new house, do you want to experience that or skip it?”

This jolts her out of bed, and she’s digging around in her bag for her best Lord of the Manor outfit to wear whilst directing the peasants. God, she’s always wanted a staff to boss around. Eve is finished getting ready first (not too difficult when all she has to do is pull a disgusting polyester shirt on and a pair of frumpy pants that have, oh god, an elastic waistband and okay mental checklist update, order Eve new clothes.) Once Villanelle joins her, the truck is ready to go and Eve’s waiting in the car with a napkin wrapped something for her.

“Is this, oh my god, did Laith make me a breakfast sandwich?”

“‘Specially for his favorite Omega, as he told me.”

When they get to the house, there’s now another truck waiting to do a delivery, so she has basically inhale the rest of this glorious egg, cheese and ham treat, which honestly feels disrespectful to it as the masterpiece of breakfast it is. That being said the amount of grease it’s smearing on her hands is not really a good accessory for the cunty aristocrat she plans on being all day today.

Wearing her Prada A line just-past-the-knee beige wool skirt with the matching tall boots and striped turtleneck, Villanelle fucking serves that look all day. She stands at the top of the first flight of stairs and in a tone with just enough haughtiness mixed with impatience, she directs all of the deliveries coming in. Yes, that goes into the back parlour, and no, that 18th century headboard is for the third bedroom and obviously the mahogany table and its matching ten chairs go to the dining room, does she really even have to say that?

It’s Eve who’s really on the ground during all this, leading people where they need to go, thanking them profusely, and apparently tipping them well considering they go from being annoyed at being talked down to to smiling big at Eve. Aw, her little socialist Alpha. Maybe they can go to Russia one day and Eve can see how dismissing the class structure worked out there.

Villanelle only leaves her perch when the pieces for her den room arrive. Before Eve can notice, she’s shepherding the delivery Alpha quickly into the house, and yes, tipping him. She needs his discretion, and if that isn’t what money can’t buy then what can it, really. She closes the door after he leaves, and avoids Eve’s curious half smile when she gets back to the foyer.

Once everything’s inside the house, Villanelle goes room to room, making sure things are where she wants them. Eve follows her into the first bedroom, and laughs at the upcurled lip on Villanelle’s face upon seeing that no, nothing is in the right place AT ALL.

“Damn those lazy plebs! Double the taxes this harvest season!” Villanelle decrees and yeah, she’s super digging this whole colonizing landowner vibe.

“Hey, Prince John, maybe next time you’ll actually go with them and make sure it’s being done how you like instead of lofting over them. You know, the Scots don’t take kindly to foreigners taking their land and treating them like shit.”

“Whatever, what are they going to do? Create an uprising?”

“I mean, they’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, yeah. Help me move the bed to the centre of this wall, will you, big strong Alpha?”

And well, isn’t the joke on Eve in the end when she has to spend the next two hours moving furniture a bit to the left, no, no, too far, okay, yeah a bit to right, no, you know what, nevermind I like it to the left, actually, wait, maybe if we move it over to this wall it might be better, well, let’s try it and see.

“Villanelle, I swear to god…” Eve says, standing up slowly, cricking her back and wiping her sweaty forehead.

“Only ten more rooms to go!”

She ends up taking pity on Eve after they’ve done the master bedroom and the second bedroom (which she is refusing to call Eve’s room, even in her head.) She can’t really get a proper feel for where everything is supposed to really go until all of the linens arrive in the next few days, not to mention the dozen wooden crates full of lamps, paintings, crystal vases, Rococo sculptures, marble busts, decorative columns, and that insane granite topped dressing table she found lost amoungst a bunch of tacky mid century modern bureaus that some hipster next to her was losing his mind over at that antique store. Ugh. What was it with the kids today and their attachment to teak? So overplayed.

“What are you going to make us for dinner, subversive Alpha?”

Eve looks incredibly grateful for the chance to not be moving furniture anymore. She ends up being capable enough in the kitchen to turn on the stove and sears them up some lamb chops, courtesy of their friendly local butcher. Throwing in some fresh rosemary that they found growing at the front door of the house, she tells a story about how she’d broken up with the only girl she ever dated, for a brief flash of a couple months in college, because they tried to assemble an Ikea bed together while she sears the chops, then mixes some leafy greens, feta cheese, and cranberries on the side. Villanelle tells her how proud she is that Eve will actually be eating a fresh vegetable.

“Yeah, yeah, smart ass.” Eve grouses but there’s a fondness to it that makes Villanelle all warm inside.

They have a quiet meal at the new roughly hewn kitchen table made by a local artisan, a gentlemen only five feet in stature but built like a fucking tank who had called Villanelle and Eve lassie the whole time they were in his workshop. Apparently Villanelle’s whole life is Alpha Hobbits now.

“So, how is it?” Eve asks, with a note of vulnerability at her need for affirmation. Villanelle goes with her newly burgeoning Omega instinct, tipping her chin down and looking up at Eve through her lashes.

“It’s really good, Alpha.” Villanelle says in a soft voice she honestly didn’t even know she was capable of and Eve beams, positively beams.

“If the bed linens arrive tomorrow, I guess we’ll finally be able to check out of the inn and stay here.”

“Only need one set of bed linens for that to happen.” Villanelle says, letting the meaning of this settle over them.

She can see the exact moment last night and what they did in the safety of the dark comes back to Eve. They’d been running around all day, without time to think about anything but the tasks in front of them that it’s taken this long to pop up its potentially socially awkward head.

So now she gets to find out how Eve’s decided to label what they did. Will it be professional duty? Common courtesy? Some kind of horny ghost possession? An excruciating amount of anxious flustering?

If there’s one thing that she knows for sure, now especially, is that all that bullshit that Eve was feeding her was exactly that, total bullshit. She wants Villanelle just as much as Villanelle wants her. She’d sensed it not just in her scent, but in the way Eve was with her last night, the commanding, authoritative way she took over. She’d offered her that safety and care, and Villanelle was going to be damned if she loses it again. Refusing to look away, she waits to see if Eve will make eye contact with her.

Eve takes in a deep breath, then another, and her hand squeezes the stem of her wine glass, then finally looks up at her. Villanelle cocks her head to the side, her face just a tad challenging, and waits for as long as Eve needs until she finally responds with a slight nod of the head.

“Yeah, that’s okay by me.” She says in a hushed voice, a pinkish blush spreading over her cheeks and GOD she’s cute when she’s finally admitting the obvious.

Together they polish off an entire bottle of wine, laughing over all the different kinds of Scots that came into the house that day. It hits her in the middle of it, what exactly is happening. This, this is something that she’d never experienced before, the warmth of the kitchen, now decked out in the level of sophistication befitting her. But it's more than just her frankly inspiring design ability. It’s this lingering at her own kitchen table after a good meal to talk and laugh while drinking what has turned to be a decent sauvignon blanc with a beautiful woman smiling at her. Villanelle feels something, something more enveloping than happiness, really. She feels content. Like everything is right and good and safe. Somewhere along the way, the hellish weeks from before have managed to have some kind of payoff.

Maybe she doesn’t have to leave here eventually. Maybe she’ll stay in this little dream house of her own making. And maybe she’ll be able to convince Eve that she should stay too, not just to protect Villanelle but to make her happy, make herself happy. They could do this every evening, make supper, eat together, laugh together, get to know one another, and then at night they can crawl into the huge 17th century bed upstairs and fuck and fuck and fuck, waking up the next morning wrapped around each other.

She thinks she can do it, she thinks maybe she can make this all so appealing that Eve will want to stay. Then the only thing she’ll need to hunt is pheasants and deer and not a person. The idea of the past hunting, the chasing and the capturing and the killing, it’s starting to seem too real. Watching life leave someone’s eyes isn’t the only option available to her now to feel something. She’s experienced more than that in her time with Eve, more than she might ever have since that night her mother drove away and left her forever.

“Well, how about a quick promenade through your beautiful new property? Good a time as any to start exploring your land, my liege.” Eve suggests.

With this touch of tipsiness, they get bundled up in the beautiful wool coats Villanelle bought them both at the Highland wool shop, Villanelle with an Hermes scarf wrapped around her head to keep her hair settled. They walk for a solid fifteen minutes, neither saying much of anything as Villanelle starts to take in all the land at her disposal now. Eventually she notices how Eve keeps looking at her from the corner of her eye.

“You know, you look like the Queen, out walking your estate lands in a dependably warm coat and a scarf around her head.” Eve says.

“Well, she is really responsible for popularizing the whole rugged Scotland aesthetic.”

“Have you ever watched The Crown?”

“Just the first season on a very long stake out waiting for a Berlin crime lord to arrive at his ski lodge in the Swiss Alps.” She shivers at the memory. “God I hate snow. Reminds me too much of Russia.”

Eve is quiet at that, and when Villanelle looks over, she can see her brow furrowed at this.

“Bad memories?”

Villanelle scoffs.

“Did you know that statistically, Russia is one of the most unhappy places in the world. It’s like the opposite of Disneyland.”

“In some ways, I think it’s better that Russia is so upfront about not constantly trying to be happy. Coming from America and the whole pursuit of happiness thing, it’s almost a set up for misery, and then not being able to admit how miserable you are. You’ve been all over the world, is any country truly happy?”

“France maybe. And Italy. Don’t underestimate the power of good food. Look how much happier we are now that we’re not eating garbage processed food all the time.”

“That the only thing making you happy nowadays?” Eve prods gently, and oh wow, is she really talking about this in the misty shrouded light of day?

“All the orgasms are definitely helping.” She says, half cheeky and half serious. “Maybe I could, you know, give…”

“Maybe you can get a TV and we can watch the rest of it.” Eve cuts her off.

Wait what?

“Watch what?”

“The Crown.”

Okay, that’s where she’s at with this then. If she’s most comfortable with Villanelle being a pillow princess, then okay, she won’t push it. Not much, at least.

But she has a decision to make. Does she tell Eve about her secret den room? Does she let her inside? The truth of what she’s been doing occurs to her suddenly. She was always going to tell her, was always going to let her in.

“I can order a TV for the parlour at the back of the house, so we can watch it in there. But maybe, until then, you can watch the one in my, uh, my sitting room.”

“Your sitting room? Is that what it is? I was thinking it was Bluebeard’s Chamber or something. Where you’re going to hang the heads of all the dictators you’re going to kill.”

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to do that anymore.” Villanelle looks slyly over at Eve walking beside her, tiny tendrils of curls being pulled out of her ponytail by the wind whipping over her.

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want. Always have been.” Eve says, seriously.

“I know.” She says it softly, hoping it’s being carried away by that same wind. She can tell Eve hears her though, when she sees the delight and pride in her face at this response. “I think… I think I’d like to go back to the inn now.”

Eve gets the undertone of what she's saying immediately, as she nods and they turn back silently. They’re halfway back when Villanelle feels Eve’s hand gently placed on her lower back, and god, she’s being guided now, lead, and then it’s an internal battle of how dare she and fuuucckkkk this is so hotttttt.

Eve’s already in bed once Villanelle comes out of the tiny bathroom at the inn. She’s laying propped up by pillows, reading the newspaper in the golden light of the lamp on the table next to her, and oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, is she…

“Are those… are you wearing glasses?” Villanelle’s voice is strained, and Eve looks up at her, and yes, big chunky frames that are surprisingly chic for someone who usually wears the contempo casual collection from the Marks and Sparks.

“Uh, yeah.”

Villanelle realizes she’s biting her bottom lip, and fuck this, this better happen again tonight because she’s already raring to go just from the sight of Eve in glasses.

“Ha, ha, nerd.” She says, unconvincingly and gets into bed, curling up facing Eve.

“Not a nerd. Just middle aged.”

“Just the right age for me and my mommy issues.” Villanelle grins, and then, without waiting for a response, flips over to face the wall, backing up until she’s pressed to Eve’s side.

The light goes off, and Eve’s moving, jostling her with just a touch of roughness until she’s wrapped up behind her.

“Rather you call me daddy then mommy.” She murmurs into Villanelle’s ear and FUCKING GOD HELL CHRIST.

Villanelle’s whimpering in response before she can stop herself, which damn, now Eve will know she has the upper hand. She shimmies a bit, grinding her ass into the cradle of Eve’s hips, and lets out a big sigh.

“Okay, daddy,” she says and Eve’s responding quick intake of air lets her know that now she’s winning.

She knows her scent is just as thick with desire as Eve’s is now, can smell them blending together in something heated, something beautiful in their combined scent. She’s undulating her hips at this. It’s intoxicating, the two of them both wanting the other.

She’s not in the mood to wait tonight, so she takes Eve’s hand from where it’s resting on her stomach and puts it under her nightgown, letting Eve know not only that she’s not wearing any undies, but that she’s already soaking her thighs with slick. Eve breathes out a “fuck” as she slips her fingers into Villanelle with complete ease, putting her knee between Villanelle’s legs to lift one and open her up to her touch.

“Come on, now, princess, come on.” Eve whispers, her mouth pressed to the shell of Villanelle’s ear.

“In, in, in.” Villanelle is panting out and thank god, Eve knows what she means and slides her fingers in deeper.

Villanelle is able to fuck down onto Eve’s hand then, and she moves quickly, groaning at the deep gathering of her orgasm, coming in on every side and booming out of her. Eve gathers her close afterwards, gently rocking her as she floats in it, in Eve’s body pressed to hers and the scent of their arousals.

“Thank you, daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help myself with the daddy thing between these two! It just works!


	16. Vegan Prom

Villanelle wakes up gasping in the darkest part of the night, and before she’s able to full suss out what it was that woke her up, Eve is cooing in her ear, nonsense shushing, holding her close, and yes, pressing her fingers back into her, and god, it’s all so, and Villanelle feels so, god, it’s a beautiful dream after a terrible one, and what do you say, Omega? Thank you Alpha, thank you daddy, thank you, thank you.

They wake up early the next morning and, in a companionable quiet, pack up the last of their things and go downstairs for one last breakfast at the inn.

“Good thing I didn’t have to have to come up there this morning, huh?” She hears Laith say to Eve when she goes to pay for the room and she realizes that maybe they should have both showered this morning. But she couldn’t, she just couldn’t wash away all of Eve’s scent from her skin.

The rest of the items they’d bought on their day out shopping arrive that day as well as a bunch of the things she’s ordered online and had expedited shipped to her. By that night, everything is everywhere. She’s standing in the front room, hands on her hips, looking at all the boxes and crates, and is suddenly overwhelmed at the idea of it all.

“Leave it for tonight. We can get started on all of it later.”

“We need to hire someone to come in and….”

“No, no more staff management for you. I don’t want the townspeople anymore annoyed with you than they already are.”

“Hey, I’m paying them well for their time.”

“Could be less of a bitch to them too, then.”

“This is how the world works, Eve. Rich cunty women treat those below them like shit. You don’t want Oksana to seem off in some way do you? Gotta sell this cover, after all.”

“That’s some classist bullshit.”

“Sweet innocent American. So naïve in the ways of the world.” She grins at Eve who rolls her eyes at her in response.

It’s dinner and wine and then falling into bed again that night. The first night in her new home and she’s there with Eve next to her, cuddling up to her and petting her side, her arm, her thigh, moving slowly, teasing, before she gives in to Villanelle’s frustrated huffs and finally fucks her.

The next day when the kitchen installers come to put in the countertops and cupboards in the kitchen Eve suggests that they go check out the clinic that Grace the nosey nurse had recommended.

“If that’s still something you want to do, of course.” Eve says, approaching her about it like she was a spooked horse.

And yes it is still something she wants to do, though the level of that want seems to be less than considering all of the Omega orgasms and the feeling of gross gooey contentment inside of her all the time now. She supposes that, if nothing else, it’s probably a good idea to have the option. After all, if things change here, if she needs the option of her old finely tuned skillset, even if it’s just to protect Eve, the Alpha hormones will be something she should have.

From the get go the new clinic is the polar opposite of the one they’d been at before. On the walls are posters of same sex POC couples, one of a gender neutral person giving the idea of being yourself before all else the thumbs up. An Alpha who smells like lime and salt with green hair and many facial piercings smiles big at them when they come in from the reception desk. She’s wearing a button that says “She/Her” and a dress that’s covered in cat faces.

“Hey! Welcome to the Inclusion Hub! Is this your first time?”

“Yes, she’s here to see…” Eve says.

“Oh, I think she can talk for herself.” The girl says in a kind but firm tone and wow, if Villanelle isn’t immediately grateful for this.

“Yes, this is my first time.”

“Well, let’s get you started here on these forms. You only have to give what medical history you feel comfortable with, though if the doc needs to know something in connection to your visit today, they may ask you for more information. And what is your name?”

At this moment, Villanelle isn’t exactly sure who she should be. She looks over at Eve, who’s making an urgent face at her.

“If you’re not comfortable giving us your birth name, that’s okay. You can give me your preferred name.”

“Oh, um…” The irony of the fact that it’s exactly the opposite for her isn’t lost on her. “It’s Oksana.”

“Awesome. Just put those forms up here when you’re done and I’ll let you know when the doc is ready for you. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“What is this place?” Villanelle says as her and Eve sit down on the crappy waiting room chairs. Everything has a real non-profit, community funded vibe to it, right down to the billboard full of adverts for disability friendly rooms for rent, trans inclusive sports teams, and something called a vegan prom.

“It’s amazing, is what it is.” Eve says, pointing to the giant bowl of free condoms and latex dams. “Places like this could solve so many problems in the world.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you believe the children are our future.”

“Teach them well and…”

“Oh my god STOP.”

She ends up filling out the form pretty honestly. If the Twelve are searching for her based on the fact that she got rubella when she was six (because the orphanage was a Dickenson style shit hole that didn’t inoculate them or make sure that they didn’t infect each other) then, well, hats off to them, they deserve to find her.

By the time she’s got it filled in and returned to the front desk girl (“Oh, awesome! And hey, if you guys are hungry, Doc brought in some delicious gluten free banana bread. No nuts either, if you’re allergic”) the openness and keen-ness of this place is starting to make her feel defensive. She knows that this all should appeal to her base Omega feelings, but she’s learned not to trust how people first present themselves, especially when they do it this forcefully. She’s learned that lesson many times, most recently when she was ordered to assassinate the head pastor of some mega church in Los Angeles who constantly condemned the immortality of the world, while secretly paying men to come to his house, hogtie him in the bathtub and piss on him while he begged for more.

God, the amount of scrubbing she did when she left his place.

“Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed.” Eve says, reading a pamphlet entitled ‘Designation and Gender Affirmation Facts You May Not Know!’ “Did you know that it’s not hormone treatments that you use to change designations? It’s pheromones. And this whole time, I’ve been saying hormones. I’m taking this home with us, it’s very informative.”

Just when the wave of Eve calling the house ‘home’ is about to overwhelm her the door to the back opens.

“Oksana?” It’s, presumably, the doctor. They’re about five foot tall, with short, spiked black hair, big chunky blue frames, a white coat covered in buttons with blue, white and pink stripes and one saying ‘call me they/them or hey cutie!’, a tulle skirt underneath with shiny blue tights with stars on them and big combat boots, and honestly, it’s a fucking look.

“Yeah, hi, that’s me.”

“Excellent. Come with me.”

She follows them into one of the rooms, going to sit on the paper covered bed.

“You only have to sit up there if you’re comfortable with it. Sometimes medical stuff can be triggering for people, especially Omegas, and here, you only have to do what you're okay with.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s okay.”

Villanelle has honestly never thought of it before, that the idea of a doctor’s office might be something upsetting for someone. Remembering her first experience with a doctor as an Omega, though, it makes sense.

“How are you doing today, Oksana? You seem a little uncertain. Is there anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable?”

God, how could they even FUNCTION being so understanding of everyone? She was used to just having to nut up and deal with shit. That’s how she became strong, after all. Being treated with utter disregard and being forced to adapt. That was a good thing. Right?

When she goes to brush off this concern though, a little niggling voice pops up in her head. What if she didn’t have to just deal with it? What if what she wanted was considered?

“Uh, well, that’s kinda what I’m here for today.”

“Okay, hit me with it. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’d like to be put on those, uh, hormones or whatever, to be an Alpha.”

“We can definitely do that for you.” The doctor answered without blinking an eye, pulling up to a battered laptop on the counter next to them. “Is it okay if we talk a little about your history? Just so I know that you’ll be safe on them.”

Oh here it is. This is when they were going to find some reason to talk her out of it.

“Well I was on them before.”

“Okay, for how long?”

“From age 15 to about three weeks ago.”

“And do you know which brand you were taking?” Villanelle is duly shocked.

“Aren’t you going to say anything about how I started taking them so young?”

“It’s not unusual for someone to start pheromone treatment right after they present. Some people know right away they aren’t actually what their body has decided for them.”

“But what if they weren’t given the choice, or even the knowledge that it was happening.”

She honestly doesn’t know what makes her say it. Maybe it’s this place, maybe it’s the brochure about consent that she read over Eve’s shoulder, maybe it’s the fact that she’s finally able to admit to herself that yeah, what the Twelve did to her was fucked up, and yeah, it scares her to think about it.

“Wow. Okay.” The doctor turns to her, genuine concern on her face. “Are you comfortable telling me more about that?”

She thinks of the Twelve doctor then, smiling at her, handing her her birth control packs. Then she thinks of Konstantin, always with another kill for her to do.

“It was my father. He wanted me to be an Alpha because he needed me to be strong. Needed me to always be the dominant.”

“Well, he didn’t need to give you Alpha pheromones for that to happen. Omegas are capable of being strong. In some ways, even stronger than Alphas.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes at this.

“You don’t believe me.” The doctor smiles. “Why not?”

“It’s just all this.” She gestures around the room, to the clinic, to the doctor’s buttons about Omega rights and how tough Omegas are. “It just seems like such bullshit. Like some kind of greeting card message, like it’s all said with a condescending wink.”

“I agree with you, this shit can get pretty fucking cheesy.” This is not the response Villanelle is expecting to her insulting this person’s entire practice. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“I guess.”

“Listen, if what you truly want is to be an Alpha again, I will help make that happen for you. I am not here to question your motivation. But because this is something that you experienced without your consent or even your knowledge, let’s talk about why this is something you want to go back to.”

“If you’re going to try and talk me out of this….”

“Never. In fact…” They go over to the cabinet in the corner, opening it up and pulling out a clearly labelled box and handing it to Villanelle. “Here’s some Alphadone. It’s a safe and easily affordable Alpha pheromone treatment. I’ll give you a script for more as well. I won’t stop you from doing what you feel is right for you. You’ve had your agency violated enough. But, as a doctor, I want to make sure that you’re healthy and that you have access to all the information you need. So how about you tell me what you think an Alpha is supposed to be and what an Omega is supposed to be.”

“Alphas are the strongest, the most powerful. When I was an Alpha, I felt in control and knew that nothing and no one could break me. I had the confidence that came from the innate knowledge that I was the one who was in charge, that I wasn’t weakened by the biological need to be accommodating, to be emotional, to always need to be taken care of.”

“What makes you think that as an Omega you need to be taken care of?”

“Because the only time in the last three weeks I’ve been at peace is when I’ve let my… the Alpha I’m with take over and deal with all the hard stuff I suddenly get so overwhelmed with. That and when I’m making her food or creating our home.“

“So the idea of having help, of being in a relationship where you can rely on someone’s help, that’s not what you’re interested in?”

“I’m just used to taking care of myself. I’m good at it. Been doing it my whole life.”

“Would it be truthful for me to say that that means you had to take care of yourself when you were younger? Maybe when you were supposed to be taken care of by a parent?”

Villanelle’s diverted gaze and silence is her answer.

“Is it possible that you might be scared of letting someone take care of you? Because you have always had to be so strong, you equate letting someone help you with weakness?”

“Maybe” is all she’s willing to admit.

“You said that being an Alpha is about taking care of yourself and being strong, and that being an Omega is about someone else taking over, and thus being weak. Does that sound about right?”

“It used to. I… I don’t know anymore.” Villanelle tips her head back, blinking at the stupid tears that are suddenly in her eyes. “Listen, I just don’t want to feel like this anymore. It feels like everything is so out of control right now, and I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“That makes total sense. You’ve literally just found out that your designation isn’t what you thought it was, and have had to deal with Omega pheromones for the first time in your life. Anyone would find that extremely disconcerting. So yes, if it’s something you’re not ready to deal with, or something you never want to deal with, then take the Alphadone. But I just want to make sure you know that it’s not always like this. You’ve got a buildup of pheromones in you right now that are all hitting you at once like a freight train, so yeah, you’re going to be extra emotional. But Omegas can be calm, centered, independent and in control. They can be strong and tough and fighters as good as any Alpha. And that’s not bullshit. You look up some famous Omegas and see what they’ve accomplished, and I think you’ll be surprised. There is another option though, one that I’m not sure you’re aware of.”

“If you’re going to tell me I should go Beta, I’m leaving.”

“Okay, first of all, my wife is a Beta and she’s one of the best people I know.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know how Alphas feel about them because it’s the way I was when I first met her, until she whipped my ass at racquetball.” The doctor smiles. “No, the option I’m going to present to you being bi-designational or designation neutral. You can be a bit of both, or neither. You can take a lower dosage of the Alphadone so that you still have heats, but only when you’re with an Alpha in a rut, mainly an Alpha you’re bonded too. Or you can take no pheromones and just be who you want to be, taking on some Omega aspects and some Alpha ones. You can be aggressive sometime, and soft others. You can body build but also be an amazing cook. A lot of designation things, they’re societal. Some people argue all of them are. What I’m trying to tell you here, Oksana, is that it’s up to you. You, and only you, get to decide who you are, and how you’ll express that.”

Now Villanelle doesn’t know if it’s hormones or pheromones or designation or gender or the fact that she hasn’t been called Oksana in so long, but she can’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

“I don’t know who I am.”

“Most of us don’t. But we’re all figuring it out as we go along.”

Before she leaves the clinic, the doctor asks if she wants a script for birth control and the idea that being pregnant is something that can even happen to her is so overwhelming that she can’t even answer. The doctor sees the reaction and says it’s okay, there’s no pressure, but to make sure she uses precautions during sex with an Alpha, giving her a brochure about different things she can use to stop pregnancy. Villanelle takes it and folds it into a small square and shoves it in the bottom of her pocket, along with any kind of ability to deal with that right now.

“It go okay?” Eve has clearly been anxious the entire time she’s been in there, anxious enough that there’s a scent of worked up Alpha in the waiting room.

“Yeah, fine, let’s go.”

She’s got so much to think about, so much information to parse through, that all she wants is to just go back to the house, sit in a quiet room, alone, and, you know, question her life and identity and choices.

She’s also definitely needed wine to do all that with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if while reading this, something doesn’t add up to a previously established fact already stated in the story. I’m writing this on the fly, and this back half out of order, something I have never done before, and there are so many balls in the air that I would totally appreciate any help you guys can give me. Cheers.


	17. The President of Chile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is a day late! I'm incredibly busy right now and have had no time to even write, let alone edit and post. I'm going to try as hard as I can to stick to the schedule though. Thanks for your patience everyone.

After stopping at the first Off-Sales they pass, Villanelle manages to find a pretty decent Cab Sav, and throws in some of those horribly sweet coolers because she has Eve’s tastes pretty figured out by now - cheap and popular. Once they get back to the house, she takes the bottle, all the brochures the doctor gave her, and the MacBook that she bought herself into her little nesting room, one that’s been locked since the furniture was all delivered and Villanelle had set it up to her liking. Eve’s barely in the front door when Villanelle’s going in, closing the door and locking it again.

She spends most of the afternoon reading up on this redefined view of designations. She falls down a Wikipedia wormhole finding out about the designationist movement that happened ten years ago in America, one that introduced ideas that have slowly spread throughout the rest of the world. Rejecting the idea of what an Alpha and Omega and even a Beta should be, this new way of thinking is about how a person feels inside, which expression and identity feels right to them. A lot of it has to do with breeding, or rather, the rejection of the need to breed.

Part of this new way of thinking is also the embrace of the female Alpha. After years of being seen as less than a male Alpha, now it’s been proven that they are just as capable of taking care of a partner, of bonding and providing and defending and (if so wanting) breeding an Omega. Giant steps have been made in figuring out how to heighten the chances of a female Alphas ability to impregnate an Omega. And Omegas of all genders have gone through their own sexual revolution. There’s no longer the insistence that an Omega needs an Alpha, even during a heat. The emerging group of single and unbonded Omegas, living full and happy lives, have not only shown that they’re capable of independence and happiness, but that they don’t need to rely on anyone for sexual fulfillment. Villanelle ends up on an Omega-specific sex toy website, full of unassuming, even beautiful, toys, ones of a reasonable size and shape, made of smooth purple silicone with settings like ‘the rumbler’ and ‘the thruster’ all specially designed for an Omega’s pleasure.

This brings up a time sensitive matter for her in terms of this big decision that seems to be shaping up in front of her. If she doesn’t start taking the Alphadone soon, she’s going to go into heat again. Could she go through a heat alone? She thinks about it, being in this cozy, safe room, using some of these very advanced and very fun looking toys that yeah it might be an option. That being said, if she’s able to get Eve to be more honest with herself about the sexual aspect of their relationship, get her out of this whole furitve fucking in the dark thing, then maybe this time they can avoid the dumpster fire that happened after she’d gone into heat last time.

When her stomach growls she realizes she’s been in her cozy little room, reading and researching for hours now, and that it’s well past suppertime. Slipping out of the door and closing it behind her, she goes into the kitchen where Eve is wiping down the granite countertops and shiny bougie appliances.

“I made some peanut butter cookies while you were… doing whatever it was you were doing in there.” Eve says.

Villanelle spies them on the counter next to the stove, a big pile of them on the turkey platter from the service she just bought. Of course, Eve doesn’t realize that a specific dish exists to place baking on, being the uncultured slob that she is. After taking a cautious bite of a cookie, though, she decides that fuck turkey, this plate belongs to cookies now.

The cookies are fucking amazing, and okay, they deserve the sanctity of sitting down to eat them with a cup of tea. She uses the water spout that was installed over the stove for easy filling of pots to fill the kettle, turning on one of the six gas burners and placing it there. She rummages through the cupboards and finds some Yorkshire Tea, obviously bought by Eve because Villanelle would never settle for anything other than a small batched, hand blended tea.

“Here, let me get some mugs.” Eve’s rushing up beside her, obviously eager to help all of the sudden. “Pretty good cookies, huh?”

“Yeah, especially for an Alpha.” Villanelle says, throwing some tea bags into her new 17th century china teapot decorated with painted Alphas chasing Omegas on the side.

“Alphas can cook and bake and take care of a home too, you know. My dad always helped around the house, did the shopping, made a mean pancake. He knew that as an Alpha he wasn’t incapable of lending a hand.”

“Well, maybe I should call him and tell him how good his Alpha daughter’s cookies are.”

“Oh, well, he’s actually dead now, so…”

Oh fuck. God, she’d really put her foot in her mouth now, hadn’t she?

“I’m, uh, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s been about twenty years now, so it’s not as painful as it was. Or it is, but in a different way that’s less sharp, at least.” She sits down at the big kitchen table.

“How did he…”

“Stroke. Classic Alpha. Took on too much, stressed himself out wondering if he was providing enough for the family. Worked too much because of it, and ended up literally dying on the job.”

“Yeah, that’s a definite Alpha death.”

“Doesn’t have to be like that, though. That’s what I learned from it. You can be a good Alpha and not lose yourself in that fear. You can listen to your partner and let them tell you how they feel, and then believe them when they do.” Eve looks down into the steaming mug Villanelle’s placing in front of her. “Even if it’s something you don’t want to hear.”

“There’s a lot of pressure put on Alphas.” Villanelle thinks about all she’s just read. “Did you know that the Alpha suicide rate is higher than any other designation? All because they’re expected to be unfeeling, all powerful, and always right. I guess that’s why I always thought of myself as the perfect Alpha, because I believed that.”

“You starting to see that there isn’t just one kind of Alpha now?” Eve looks hopeful.

“I’m seeing that maybe the Russian oligarchal way of viewing gender and designation I was raised with mixed with the exploitative and manipulative way I was trained and drugged by the Twelve might have been a bad thing.”

She ventures a quick glance up at Eve, waiting for a big I TOLD YOU SO coming out of her, but all she sees is relief.

“Yes, it definitely was a bad thing. But now you have the opportunity to make it right. And how’s that going?”

“The doctor said that I don’t have to be all one thing. Or even all of what one thing is supposed to be. That I can be whoever I want to be, and then decide what to do with my pheromones.”

“And what will that be?”

“Let’s just say it’s TBD.”

“Okay, gotcha.” Eve picks up that she’s obviously eager to be done with this line of conversation. “What else did you find out about new wave designationism?”

“Um, that there’s an Omega president in Chile. Oh and that Omegas are allowed to adopt on their own in Canada and France. Also, that not hiring someone based on their designation is now illegal in almost every European country. Even Russia. Which is surprising considering how I grew up thinking that the strong ruled the weak, and that Omegas were only good for breeding, cooking and cleaning. Apparently the motherland now thinks that Omegas have other skills.”

“You know, there’s a rumour that Rasputin was actually an Omega.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one. That he used his tricky pheromones to seduce and beguile the Alpha queen. Drove her into a rut and got her to bite him and they ended up bonding.”

“Well that wouldn’t be true. A bond bite would have only taken if they truly loved one another.”

“That’s a very romantic way of looking at it. I read that it only takes when the partners are perfectly compatible with one another. Something in the pheromones being released into the saliva. And even then, it can only happen in a rut/heat situation.”

“Well, I guess that explains why it never took with me and my ex. Not even when I was able to rut because we were using the…” Eve flushes red at what she almost admitted.

“So you did use a breeding toy with your ex. Were you still taking your birth control while doing it? Did lie to him about wanting to have kids and was just playing through it for his sake?” She says it not in a swiping cruel way, rather with a very sharp sense of curiosity.

“No, I didn’t tell him I was still taking my pills. It ended up being the thing that brought it all down and blew it all apart. That and the fact that the breeding toy was the only way I could go into a rut with him.”

“Really?”

“I refused to take scent blockers when I first started working for MI5. I wanted to be taken seriously and I thought my Alphaness would do that for me. But by the time I got promoted to MI6, I needed the focus to be on me and not on my designation, and blockers were a means to an end for that. But it made it so he never scented an upcoming rut, and then wouldn’t go into heat because of it. By that point we weren’t having sex outside of heats so that means we just kind of stopped. Almost broke up then but I begged him to reconsider, told him I would do anything to get him back. He told me that he wanted kids, and that if I was willing to try and give them to him, he’d stay. So I bought a breeding toy and some rut stimulants, and we had sex for the first time in almost a year. But I didn’t need that rut stimulant. As soon as I had that toy on, I just, I don’t know, something about it made my Alpha lizard brain freak out. Let’s just say I get the whole breeding fantasy thing now for Alphas.”

“Ugh, okay, I won’t kink shame you for that, but just, no thanks.” Villanelle wrinkles up her nose. “I’ve always been a hard pass for a breeding toy.”

“I don’t know, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it is all I got to say. There’s just something about, I mean, that feeling of just….” Eve’s deep in her reminiscing now, and Villanelle wonders if she even knows what she’s saying. “You’re just pumping into them, just fucking them so hard. It’s beyond using a regular strap on, because you’re actually coming _in_ them. You’re literally filling them with your come, and my god, that idea….”

Villanelle feels her pussy throb at this, at the idea of Eve and a breeding toy and…. Before she can fully form it though, she reigns it in, not wanting it to infiltrate her scent and give her away. Eve must scent it anyways, because suddenly, her attention is back and focused and she’s flushing red, not looking directly at Villanelle.

“Anyways, I lied to him. He found my birth control the next day while I was at work, and by the time I got home, he was gone. And all I could think of was how I’d fucked up, again. That, and wondering about the scent of another Omega in my home, some overpowering gingerbread one that I would later find out belonged to the little hussy he lives with now.”

She can sense Eve’s discomfort at admitting so much to her, but her reaction isn’t to taunt, rather to give her space, and a subject change.

“I’m exhausted.” She admits.

“You’ve had a big day.” Eve smiles with such understanding that it makes Villanelle’s chest hurt. “Bed?”

While she’s laying in bed, waiting for Eve to finish up in the bathroom, she goes back to that Omega sex toy site and buys herself the most beautiful, big, breeding toy. As she does, her heart starts to pound, and her pussy starts to throb, and even though she’s far from a heat, her sudden arousal is so overpowering she feels like she’s losing any kind of control she might have. Flinging her phone onto the bedside table, she reaches under the covers to start rubbing herself, flicking herself, while she thinks about Eve with that breeding dildo, thrusting into her, filling her over and over with her come, and she’s biting onto the back of her free hand trying not to scream with her orgasm.

She fumbles with the light by the bed, turning it off and curling up, pretending to sleep. It doesn’t take long for the bathroom door to open, and then the quiet sound of Eve scenting the room. Villanelle plays at being asleep, even though she knows that Eve is aware of the act. She feels the bed dip next to her, the covers being lifted, then the light on Eve’s side being turned off.

Eve is over her and on her, then in her, before she’s even able to take a breath, and she’s coming again, quickly, with a deep guttural noise. She’s then manhandled over onto her side, facing Eve, wrapped up in her arms, and asleep before she even realizes it.

That night she wakes up gasping after dreaming of being lost out on the moors around the house, looking around in the darkness for something, for someone, casting her hands out blindly, begging, pleading, until she sees it, finally, what she’s searching for, and it’s Eve, Eve’s beautiful face, floating away. Her face is wet with tears, and she’s casting about just as lost in the bed as she tries to anchor herself back into reality.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Eve says, because she’s there, she’s always there, chasing off the demons.

Villanelle presses her nose into Eve’s neck, and breathes in deeply, again and again, taking in that scent, taking in that desire there, though Eve always tries to deny it. How much longer will she lie to herself about it? She thinks about the breeding toy, of being fucked and filled with Eve’s come and she moans. But this time, she needs something more.

She takes a hand and swipes it through the slick already gathering just from Eve’s scent. She brings those wet fingers up and slowly, so she knows what’s happening, traces Eve’s lips with them. Eve’s nostrils flare as pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, sucking it clean.

“Please, Alpha, please.” She wants to say so much more. She wants to tell Eve that that slick, that it’s for her, because of her. She wants to tell her that her whole body feels like it’s unfolding, waiting to be filled by her. But all she does say is please, please, please.

“Shh, yes, yes, shh.” Eve holds down her arms that have started to flail a bit in her desperation. That feeling of being pinned down makes her arousal surge even more, and she starts to arch her back, to writhe under that restraint. “You smell delicious, princess, do you know that? All this for me, for daddy. You be a good girl and lay still so I can lick up all this delicious slick, okay?”

And then, GOD, she feels so much better. Eve’s mouth on her, licking and sucking, and it’s like she’s finally able to fall, able to let go. She ruts her pussy up against Eve’s face and comes and comes and comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember if I've defined these terms before but just in case
> 
> Rut - Basically the flip side of a heat, this is a response from an Alpha to an in heat Omega. They become continually aroused, and fall into a lot of base behavior, territorial, protective, intensively doting, and as insatiable sexually as the in heat Omega. Levels of feral like states can vary.
> 
> Mating Bite - Decided to use this ABO trope after all. Basically an Alpha biting an Omega during a climax in a heat/rut, and leaving a scar that marks them as being the Alpha's bond mate.


	18. Market Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all sent me the sweetest messages last week! Thank you so much for being so wonderful and supportive 🥰. This is the longest single fic I've ever written which is hilarious considering how I started it thinking it would be maybe 15000 words tops.
> 
> I'm happy to report that I did a lot of work on the story last week and I'm only two chapters away from finishing. Also note that the chapter count has gone up again and the update day is being switched to Wednesdays as it works better for my schedule. 
> 
> Thanks folks and enjoy!

The next two weeks continued to be the best of Villanelle’s entire life.

It’s almost as if something’s been released in her after that night she finally gets to have Eve’s mouth on her again, something that’s being made here in their house. Because that’s what it is now. She realizes that one night when she’s coming back home from the village, having been trusted enough to take the car alone out to buy some of Laith’s butteries for their dinner. The shape of the house is outlined in the twilight behind it while she’s bumping along the road on her way back, and there’s golden light coming from each window, and Villanelle knows Eve’s in there, waiting. Suddenly, she realizes that this, this here, it’s their home, not just hers. For the first time in her life, she has a home, a real one, where she’s safe and accepted and can be at peace. One where she’s got a partner waiting for her to please her in every way.

Villanelle knows that they’ve completely blurred that line between pretending and it being real now that they act the same in the privacy of their home than they do out in public together. It’s only out in public though, out in the village, that Villanelle pushes it a bit, putting a toe over the line. They have a domestic day that before would have made Villanelle wanna throw herself off a bridge - going into the big city to go grocery shopping then having dinner at the inn so they can catch up with all the news in the village.

She hooks her foot on Eve’s under the table, and smiles broadly at her when she sees Eve freeze up, a blush spreading across her cheeks. When Laith comes over to take their plates, she tells him that the aloo gobi and pakoras are her Alpha’s favorite, and then takes great pleasure in watching Eve choke on her water at being called Villanelle’s Alpha so brazenly.

“Isn’t that right, honey?” She says, pushing it.

“Um, yeah, I, ah, yeah, love it.” Eve gives her a look, something that she supposes Eve thinks is a glare, but looks more like a heated gaze considering the blown out pupils.

That night, Eve doesn’t relent on going down on her until she’s come three times and is so overstimulated her legs keep twitching involuntarily. When she comes up, gathering the slick off her chin with the side of her thumb and then licking it clean, Villanelle feels her clit, already so swollen and hard, start to pulse again. She knows that Eve thinks that she’s winning that point, but nope, Villanelle is definitely the winner.

Eve says that she’s got a powerful need for some homemade jam and that they should check out the farmer’s market that weekend that Sunday, because they are usually chock full of that kind of stuff. It’s a pretty solid excuse, so Villanelle lets it slide, but she knows the truth of this.

This isn’t a trip to solidify their cover, or to get a read on anyone new who might be in the village and therefore a possible threat. Villanelle knows that both of them have let their guard down, whether because it’s been so long since the Twelve made contact, or because it’s so easy to believe that they really are just an ordinary couple, Mary and Oksana, living a quiet life out in the country together. She knows it’s not just her who’s feeling this either.

Villanelle doesn’t know what she was expecting from their little hamlet’s market. When they get there, she sees a few beat up card tables loaded with produce, knitting, the requisite jams and Johnny the Butcher dressing a huge deer on a big rack. There’s something so… Russian about this, the complete lack of any kind of shame when it comes to food acquisition and consumption, that she takes Eve’s hand and drags her over to him. It becomes apparent that this was the right choice when she realizes he’s handing out the choicest cuts to whoever comes to ask him about how he’d felled the noble beast.

“Aye, this was nothing but a doe. The stag and his lady, though, they were out there, just beyond. He was looking at me with his two eyes, flaming red they were, and was snorting like the Devil himself. The two of them, beautiful and fearsome. He charged me after I made the shot, barely made it out of there with my life. Massive dent in my truck now from where he rammed his 10 pointer into it, shook it like the earth itself was quaking with fear beneath it.”

“Well maybe he was trying to convince you to try veganism.” Eve said dryly.

“Eve!” Villanelle elbowed her. “None of that American nonsense! You know God created animals to feed us and become our upholstery.”

Villanelle is rewarded by Johnny for this with the tenderloin, which she promises to make sure Eve tries.

“If this doesn’t convince her, then there’s no hope! I’ll have to send her to Los Angeles to live with the anti-vaxxer liberal movie star hordes!” Villanelle says, laughing with Johnny while Eve rolls her eyes.

Villanelle literally almost swoons when they’re browsing all the tables and she feels Eve’s hand come up to her lower back, and stay there, guiding Villanelle as they walk. She’s careful to say nothing or react physically in any way, lest she scare Eve off. Unfortunately it isn’t as easy to control her scent, and when they get to the local schoolteacher and post woman who’s made all the jams, she’s smiling big and winking at Villanelle.

“Ah, you two. Nothing quite like new love blossoming into familiar comfort.” She says.

Eve freezes up at the L word, and Villanelle wants to reassure her that, no, it’s okay, that’s not going to happen here. But she figures by now Eve knows enough about her, about all the killing and violence and fucked up-ness, to know that it’s not something Villanelle is capable of.

There’s more than that to Villanelle’s story, of course. Eve doesn’t know about everything before the Twelve, nothing about her childhood, how she ended up in the orphanage, how her acts of desperation there, so extreme, put her on the Twelve’s radar. No one knows all that. Except for Konstantin maybe, but even then, Villanelle was never sure.

Grace appears, grinning at them, her scent of warm vanilla coming around them.

“You don’t mind if I snag your Alpha, do you, Oksana? Been telling the croquet team all about her and they’re hoping another Alpha will help even the odds for their next game against those bastards the next town over.”

“As long as you return her, I guess that’d be okay.” She says, selling it with a cheesy grin.

“I hate you so much.” Eve whispers to her and Villanelle wiggles her fingers goodbye as Grace takes Eve’s hand and pulls her over to the croquet game currently being played with a war like intensity by a gathering of middle aged men. She introduces her to each one present as “that lovely Alpha I told you about, the one with the Omega who is just as sweet as she can be.”

If being an Omega means she gets to opt out of that shit, then okay, another thing to add to the pro column. She wanders over to look at the giant wooden crate filled with old books that’s been set out in front of the inn. Looking through the titles, she’s shocked to see one written by an Earl of Cricthon. She’s just flipping through it when she gets a waft of pipe smoke coming towards her.

“Aye, he was a rat bastard, that one.” She looks up and sees a craggy faced old man, wearing an honest to god tam, arms crossed and pipe on his lip like he’s fucking JRR Tolkein or something.

“Built a beautiful house though.”

“Oh, aye, oh aye, he did at that. You the lassie who be living out there now?”

“I am, sir.”

“Tis a fine a house, it’s true. But it’s the land that really matters.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about the land.”

“Best be learning, unless you want all that good hunting to go to waste. The stag that young Johnny always be going on about, he’s usually haunting your parts there.”

Villanelle swallows any reaction to him calling the grey haired butcher young, and says “Well I’d be happy to have any information that you can tell me, things I should go and check out. Besides the hunting, also.”

A good half hour has gone by when Eve comes to get Villanelle, saying they have to be off. Villanelle, now equipped with a map of her new property, drawn by this fine gentleman on the end pages of a copy of Tom Sawyer. (“Terrible book, really. So racist.” He’d said when he ripped the pages out of the book.)

On the way home, Eve tells her all the local gossip, now that she’s been brought up to date by Grace.

“Apparently you were right about all the breeding going on at our place. Seems like one of Oona’s mates knocked up his girlfriend one amorous filled night in the front room. Grace said the girlfriend wants to know if she can have the christening there. Said she has some fool notion that that will make God forgive the baby for being a bastard, and honestly, this place really is straight out of a Jane Austen novel.”

“More Bronte than Austen, Eve. Didn’t you go to college? How do you not know the difference?”

“Maybe I had my roommate write that paper for me, okay?”

“Eve, look at you! You little rebel!”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t make my degree invalid.”

“Okay, I have a plan. Tonight, after dinner, we’re going to go on a walk to the northeastern corner of the property where apparently there is a beautiful creek that wanders down to the water and follow it for a good mile, lass,” She falls into a perfect imitation of the gnarled old gentleman she’d been talking to. “ _And then take a sharp left you see, until you feel the shiver of something unholy watching you, and that’ll be the ghost of old Lady Cricthon, lost one stormy winter night, gone up to Ja-sus, you see, as punishment for the Earl’s indiscretion with a local girl_.”

Eve is cracking up at this, and when they finally park by the house, she’s wiping tears from her eyes.

“Oh man, that’s good. Let’s go bar hopping one night and you can talk to every Scottish person you see just like that and fool them all into thinking you’re one of them.”

“Why would we go out and do that when we have our cozy little home right here?” Villanelle says, and there’s so much honesty in her voice, it shocks the both of them.

She takes a moment to look away, trying to gather herself after unintentionally revealing so much.

“I think this evening after our walk I’m going to start reading Jane Eyre to you and fix this gaping hole in your education.” She says, unbuckling her seat belt and getting out of the car, leaving no room for argument, especially not now when this is shaping up to be yet another perfect day.

After a dinner of the fresh greens and tenderloin, which Eve said was gamey and weird and Villanelle ate so rare it was almost bloody, they go on a long exploring crawl through the moors. There are so many different places that she wants to see, but for that night, they stick to the top of a rolling hill to the southeast, where the stag has reportedly been seen.

“You’re not actually thinking of shooting it, are you? It’s so… barbaric.”

“Do I need to remind you of the time I killed a facist dictator by hanging him upside down and gutting him?”

“Gross, no.” But there’s no judgement from Eve on this one. “God, your life’s been weird.”

“No weirder than someone who ends up being really into doll collecting. Or thinking Brexit was a good idea. Or whoever invented Crocs. Those people are truly evil.”

Once they’re back home Villanelle lights a fire in the huge fireplace, and they curl up together on the big brocade couch, and she reads the first fifty pages of Bronte off her tablet out loud. The wind knocking the laurel trees against the window mixed with the visual of the wind swept heather and long rolling clouds in the dusky sky from their walk perfectly sets the mood for the story.


	19. Good Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just sex. You're welcome 😁

Eve’s scent changes in those couple weeks. There’s something more to it now, a mellow base note, and even though it’s something that Villanelle has never truly scented before she knows what it is. It’s contented Alpha, and it’s all over the house, and, she realizes one day, all over her as well and god, it makes Villanelle feel so… safe. She doesn’t know if Eve is doing it consciously or not, but being scent marked like this, how could anything bad happen? She’s seen Eve’s skills, she’s been protected by her abilities, and she knows now it’s not just up to her to defend herself. For the first time in her life she has someone else to do it, someone who WANTS to do it. Villanelle tries not to think about it too much because whenever she does, she feels her chest ache so badly she can barely take a breath, and honestly, she doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or the best thing.

It’s Eve’s insistence that makes a lot of this marking happen. After all, she’s the one who insists that they make the beds and paint the walls and fix the creaky back steps. Villanelle wanted to hire a maid, but Eve said that it’s bougie and snobby. That might have been what her mouth was saying, but the look of puffed up Alpha pride whenever something in the house is made right, made beautiful, made to be what Villanelle wants, makes her suspect that it has more to do with Eve falling into this, her wanting this to be real as much as Villanelle does. Somewhere along the way, they’ve started acting, scenting, touching, living like a bonded pair so much that it’s starting to feel more real than anything Villanelle’s felt before.

But the idea of being possessed like this, of belonging to an Alpha, Eve specifically, is doing something for her on some intrinsic level. The byproduct of making meals and cozying up the house and spending every night together in their shared bed, Eve getting her off once, twice, sometimes three times in the veiled darkness, it’s pumping pheromones through her body, making her feel floaty and happy, something she’s slowly becoming addicted to. But she needs more, more than those fervent nighttime tumbles. After being so gloriously eaten out, after seeing the shiny of her slick on Eve’s lips and chin, she needs that all the time.

Once the house is done and all the delivery people have stopped coming, she decides that she’s not going to let all of the sex happen at night anymore. Eve can’t be allowed to act like it’s not real because it’s dark and hidden in their bed. If Villanelle is able to get her to fuck her in the daytime, then this high she’s riding will get even better.

She has to start subtle. Knowing exactly what the scent of her arousal does to Eve, she decides to taunt her at first. In the afternoons, she holes up in her den room and uses the high end Omega vibe she ordered along with the breeding toy (with her secret bank account because there’s no way in hell she’s letting MI6 know that anything sexual is happening in this house.) Eve always respects the privacy of that room and Villanelle knows that because of that, despite the scent of her getting herself off, she won’t come in. At night, though, as soon as the lights turn off, Eve is moving her onto her side, pressing up behind her, and fucking her on her hand over and over, then licking all the slick off her fingers like a popsicle on a hot day. After a few nights of this she knows the next step of her plan can come into play.

When she wakes up and sees the sunshine, she jumps out of bed. She’s full of pep because, yeah, today’s the day. She makes them a damn good breakfast of bacon and eggs (farm fresh eggs and local bacon) then tells Eve she’s going to go enjoy the newly finished conservatory that day, and bounces up the stairs to change. She makes sure Eve sees her in the tiny Fleur de Mal panties and cami she put on when she saunters past her to the door of the greenery filled room.

Surrounded by the giant tropical plants and flowers, she lays down on her stomach on the low window seat she’s had installed along the inside wall, propped up by a linen pillow. She languishes in the perfectly created artificial humidity, her skin becoming shiny and dewy with sweat, the weak Scottish sun shining through the leaves in dappled patterns. She closes her eyes and daydreams, thinks off all the ways she’d not only liked to be fucked by Eve, but to be able to fuck her as well. Wouldn’t that be the best reward for being bi-desginational? To be able to fuck and be fucked?

All of this thinking gets her to wiggling, and slowly the dense lushness of the air is filled with her own honey sweet arousal. She has to wait an intolerably long amount of time before she hears the door open. A rush of cool air comes in with Eve, and it sends goosebumps all over her skin. She shivers with it, arching up a bit, and she knows the picture she’s painting for Eve right now must be gloriously obscene.

“What you doing in here, Villanelle?” Eve’s voice is firm, but impenetrable. Villanelle doesn’t look up, instead keeps her eyes coquettishly down.

The sound of Eve’s steps get closer, and the first traces of her scent reach Villanelle, and, unable to help herself, she draws it into her, taking a long breath, bringing it deep into her. The hints of desire already there make her wiggle even more, searching for some kind of direct stimulation.

“You need something?” This time it’s pure Alpha, certain, teasing. Villanelle nods quickly, still keeping her head down, and her eyes away, her breath catching slightly.

There’s a hand on her upper back now, trailing over the damp skin so delicately, and it’s too much and not enough at the same time. She makes a disgruntled noise when the touch stops.

“Shhh.” It’s firm, and Villanelle finds herself stilling, already captive. “Good girl.”

And fuck if that doesn’t send her almost over the edge just on its own, the sound of Eve’s voice praising her. Her hair is gathered then and pulled aside, and she can feel Eve kneeling down next to her, leaning over her to scent her in the nape of her neck, sticky with sweat and pheromones. Eve takes in one breath, then another, deep and long.

“Fuck, princess, you smell so good.” The whine that comes out of her can’t be helped, nor can the unconscious pressing of her hips into the bench under her.

A hand presses down on her back between her shoulders, laying her flat down against the seat underneath her with firm pressure and she’s stilled again.

“No noise.” She instructs, and Villanelle’s head starts to spin.

She feels her lower body being moved so it’s off the bench and she’s on her knees, head still down, chest pressed to the bench. Hands skim the panties off her hips and down her legs, and then she hears Eve take another deep breath in.

“Omega, I think you need to take in just how ready you are for me.”

The silken undies, balled up and wet with slick and sweat, are shoved between her nose and the bench and now every breath in she takes, all she smells is her own thick arousal, feels the wetness on her lips and against her cheeks. It’s a genuine struggle to not move, make a sound, but she tries, she tries so hard, and is rewarded by long strokes over her flank, like she’s a horse submitting to taming.

This struggle increases approximately a thousand fold when she feels Eve’s tongue swipe at the sweat gathered behind her knees, then the slick where it’s dribbling down her thighs. She’s licking it up with long slow strokes, and Villanelle feels her whole body start to tremble, from stimulation, from need, from staying still.

“Oh, sweet baby.” Eve coos at her and finally, fucking finally, she’s licking through her pussy from behind, flicking at her hard clit, nuzzling her nose in, hands coming up to grip and lift each ass cheek. Villanelle bites down on the insides of her mouth so hard she tastes blood in an attempt to not scream, to not move, god it’s so hard to not press into it. Eventually Eve takes pity on her.

“Go ahead and scream, Omega. Scream for it.” Eve says into the back of her thigh, and then is on her again, licking and sucking and Villanelle does, she screams out a long sharp noise, huffing ragged breaths and screaming again as she squirts a gush of slick into Eve’s mouth when she comes.

She is moved gently, turned around and brought to sit down on the floor, curled up in Eve’s arms. Her head lolls onto Eve’s shoulder, and she can see all her wet slick all over Eve’s chin and lips and god she has to, she just has to, and she’s kissing her before either of them realize what’s happening. Eve stills at first, but then she sucks Villanelle’s tongue, fellating it, the taste of the blood flipping on some switch inside of her and Villanelle is on her back on the ground, with fingers fucking into her and she’s coming again, even harder this time.

“Fuck.” Eve finally breathes out, arched over Villanelle’s spasming body. “Fuck, Villanelle.”

“So good, Alpha, so good.”

After that, it becomes almost painfully easy to entice Eve into getting her off at almost any time basically anywhere she wants. She’s finally able to unleash the primal Alpha in Eve, though this base instinct seems to be more focused and selfless than Villanelle’s most intense Alpha moments in the past. This drive for Eve isn’t about finding and fucking as many Omegas as she could like it was for Villanelle. No, this is more about the need to please Villanelle constantly, and to spread the scent of well fucked Omega over seemingly every piece of furniture in the house, and most of the rugs as well. It’s so focused, so completely and a hundred percent about Villanelle that it makes her feel giddy at times, like she’s Eve’s whole world. And she’ll be damned if Eve’s not hers.

Eve never initiates, instead waits to see where Villanelle will start things, which she eventually realizes is Eve’s way of always letting Villanelle be the one in control. And isn’t the exact opposite of what she’s always thought to be true in these kind of committed Alpha/Omega relationships, that it’s her, the Omega, who’s really the one calling the shots.

Villanelle starts a code for them, where whenever she goes quiet and looks at Eve a certain way, then goes and perches herself somewhere, on the dining room table, in front of the fire, on the chifforobe, on the stairs, opening her legs so Eve knows exactly what she wants. Eve’s pupils dilate, and she gets this look, predarotial, nostrils flaring, and she moves slowly, slinking almost, towards her, and then fuck, it’s all Villanelle can do not to implode waiting for Eve to touch her.

Sometimes it’s fast and she’s knocking all of the china off the dining room table and not even giving a single solitary fuck that it’s laying in shards on the ground when they’re done, not when her back’s bent like a bow, her underwear dangling off one foot. Then, sometimes… oh god, sometimes it’s torturously slow, Eve keeping her on edge but not letting her come until she says so, her panties off her foot and in her mouth to keep her from screaming.

Villanelle decides that, yeah, they’re definitely going to have outdoor sex. When they find the long narrow path down the cliff side to a private little beach, Villanelle saunters on over to a low flat rock, hikes up her skirt to show Eve and the raging ocean and God Herself that she’s not even bothering with underwear anymore. This time she can scream as loudly as she wants as the sounds get swallowed up by the wind and the waves, so much so that her voice is hoarse for the rest of the night, and Eve puffs up like a peacock every time she hears it.

Through all of this, though, she never once is able to give anything back to Eve. She’d tried, just once, reaching out to run her fingers down Eve’s front and hooking them on her belt, and Eve had frozen up and bolted before she could stop her. This was the ultimate boundary, then. Villanelle had read enough about informed consent to not push her on it. Maybe Alpha Villanelle would have tried, and pushed, and thought it was something she could overcome, but woke Omega Villanelle now realizes how uncaring that was. When she thinks about all the times she’d insisted on what she wanted more than thinking about what her partner wanted, she feels something new, something foreign. Oh god, it’s shame.

Everyday is a new set of actualizations and fuck, it’s exhausting sometimes.

Things continue like this for a while, something that feels very, very real. It’s all cozy meals together, Villanelle reading Jane Eyre out loud as they lay entangled on the couch in the evenings and sassing each other as they fix the house up together (and maybe they have to call someone in at some point when a friendly bit of competition over who can paint a room the fastest devolves into a paint fight and it ends up all over the original wood floor.) Mixed in with all the sex, and the nights buried in one another’s arms, and the pure joy, absolute joy Villanelle feels inside all the time now, it’s like a amber coloured dream that she never wants to wake up from.


End file.
